Bones Season 6:5: The Satisfaction in the Summer
by Bonesology Writers Collective
Summary: A retelling of Bones Season Six with new storylines, cases, relationships and twists...written by a collection of Bonesology fan fiction authors.
1. The Method in the Madness

_The Bonesology Writers Collective_ presents:

The Satisfaction in the Summer: Bones Season 6.5

A group of us have gotten together to reboot Season Six. We have an entire, 15 episode season planned with different twists and turns and cases, but with some elements of the original season included.

Our plan is to post a new episode every Thursday throughout the summer at Bonesology (link in our profile) and every Friday here at Fan Fiction.

The Authors

NatesMama

BrainySmrf

squinttoyou

Thnx4theGum

rynogeny

TravelingSue

Stayuff

with

TheValiumsofa helping us to make sure we keep everything straight.

Thank you!

* * *

><p><span>Season 6.5 Episode One: The Method in the Madness ~ Written by NatesMama<span>

Temperance Brennan sat in quiet contemplation on the bench near the coffee cart. She tried to catalogue all of the emotions that she was feeling at that moment and was struggling mightily. She was anxious, that much she knew for sure. A little worried, as the possibility that he wouldn't show up was always in the back of her mind. Undeniably pleased to be home. That last one had truly surprised her. She had never been so relieved to be done with a dig as she was on the day they packed up their gear and prepared to leave Indonesia. But now, sitting here waiting for Booth, another more definable emotion took precedence over all the others. Joy.

_One year from today…at the coffee cart…one revolution of the Earth around the Sun…eye contact and evolution._ The last days she had spent here in DC had been swirling around in her head for the last hour. For the last 8,760 hours, really. She hadn't been in Maluku more than a week before she began feeling as if she had made a mistake. Between the long, hot days and cooler, lonely nights, she thought constantly of Booth and his safety. She knew that he wouldn't go against his nature and listen to her insistence that he try not to be the hero, and that knowledge gave her more than her fair share of sleepless nights, tossing and turning on her mosquito net-draped bed. Her decision to refrain from contacting anyone in the hopes that she could regain her equilibrium and her legendary compartmentalization weighed heavily on her conscience. At first, she thought the isolation was necessary in order to find her balance. Then, after several months had passed and she continued to feel as unmoored as she had on day one, she assumed that it was too late to try and reconnect with everyone. And after that, there was Richard to occupy what little free time she had, and what spare emotion she could part with.

With a resigned sigh, Brennan sat back and prepared herself for the possibility that at the end of the day, she was going to find herself sitting on this bench all alone.

B&B

As Booth exited the airplane, one destination in mind, the man who had been sitting next to him on the flight from Atlanta grabbed his elbow.

"Sergeant Major?" Booth turned and smiled at his fellow traveler, trying to be as polite as possible to the man who had introduced himself as Jim Taylor.

"Mr. Taylor." He shook his hand cursorily, hoping to get to baggage claim as fast as possible.

Taylor smiled, knowing that the soldier in front of him had a very important meeting to get to. "I apologize for keeping you; I just wanted to thank you again for the conversation and the company. And to tell you that I hope everything works out for you." He patted Booth on the shoulder. "And thank you for your service. We are in your debt."

Booth nodded. "It was nice to meet you too. Thank you." And with that, he turned and practically ran for the lower level of the airport, leaving a chuckling Taylor in his wake.

While Booth stood outside at the taxi stand, his thoughts inevitably wandered to Brennan. In the preceding twelve months, Booth had kept in touch with and had received calls or letters from everyone else in his life…Parker, Cam, Hodgins and Angela, Sweets…but not one word from Bones. To be fair, he hadn't exactly made the effort to contact her, either. She said she wanted perspective, and he was damned well going to give it to her. But after a year of ducking bullets and insurgents and jackass CO's and several sweaty, mindless nights spent with one very willing and very blonde embedded reporter, Booth was convinced more than ever that wherever Temperance Brennan was, he wanted to be. And that meant that right then, he had an appointment to keep.

B&B

Checking her watch for the umpteenth time, Brennan began to accept the fact that Booth wasn't coming. With a resigned sigh, she stood and headed for the coffee cart. It had been a year since she'd had a really good latte, and she decided that at the very least she could try and salvage some of her homecoming with the comforting drink.

The vendor smiled at her as she pulled her wallet out of her coat pocket. "What can I get you, ma'am?"

Brennan looked over the lengthy menu for a moment. "A soy latte, no foam, with almond milk, please."

"Aren't you going to order me anything, Bones?"

For a moment, Brennan's ears were disconnected from her brain and she was convinced that the voice she had heard was simply a figment of her imagination. But almost simultaneously, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she knew…

"Booth!" She whipped around and threw herself into his arms, ignoring the soft 'oof' he made as he dropped his duffle and wrapped his arms around her tightly, exhaling deeply for the first time in months.

"Hey, Bones. Did ya miss me?" He pulled back to look her in the eye and grinned.

Brennan couldn't help but smile back. "Not at all."

"Good, cause I didn't miss you, either." Still smiling, Booth lowered his partner back to the ground and nodded over her shoulder at the barista. "I'll have a coffee, black, please."

The man nodded and poured another cup to go with Brennan's, then handed them over, waving off Brennan's offer of money. "No charge. Welcome home, son."

Taking the cups, Booth smiled. "Thanks. It's good to be home." He turned to a still-grinning Brennan and gestured to the bench. "Do you want to sit for a bit, Bones? Catch up a little?"

"Sure." She picked up Booth's duffle and carried it to their seats while he juggled the hot cups. Once they were settled, Booth handed her the latte and took a sip of his own brew.

"Ahhh. Real coffee. Thank God." He sighed and gave Brennan a sideways glance. "You look good, Bones."

"You too, Booth. You look…very fit." An uncharacteristic blush colored her cheeks, surprising Booth.

"Yeah…not much else to do out in the desert but work out, you know." He took another sip of coffee, giving Brennan a chance to get her composure back. It also gave him a few moments to think about what he wanted to tell her about his time in Afghanistan. When he'd first hit the airport, he thought about explaining his relationship with Hannah, but the closer he got to the reflecting pool, the more out-of-place that information seemed. Today was supposed to be all about them, not about his temporary fling in the desert.

Brennan nodded. "I am very happy to see that you are, obviously, uninjured." She paused, unsure. "I mean…you are, correct? Uninjured?"

Booth nodded into his cup. "Oh, yeah…yeah. Not a scratch, Bones. I promise. My job was mostly administrative, anyway."

"Good." Brennan felt the knot in her chest loosen just a little bit, the guilt that had been eating at her since they parted at the airport a year ago starting to release its hold on her. She studied Booth closely, trying to see if there was anything else different about him, but she could find nothing significant. It crossed her mind to talk about her brief relationship with Richard, but this didn't seem the time or the place. Perhaps later, when they were back to their routine. She only hoped that Booth would understand.

Sensing Brennan's reluctance, Booth asked about her dig, curious as to what they'd found. As he suspected, her face lit up and she excitedly described the discoveries her team had unearthed. They had not been able to prove a true link in the evolutionary chain, but the venture had been classified as a success nonetheless.

"What about you, Booth? I know you said your job was managerial, but did you meet anyone interesting?" Brennan sipped the last of her latte and turned to dispose of the cup, missing the shadow that passed over Booth's face at her question.

"Uh, you know…the usual. Lots of huge spiders, young kids who have no business being in a war zone, interesting locals…you know."

Brennan nodded. "I imagine that the days could be very tedious. That happened in Indonesia as well, as beautiful as the area is. And especially if you spend your days with Daisy Wick."

Booth laughed, shaking his head. "I still can't believe you voluntarily spent an entire year with that girl, Bones. She's just…wow."

"I shouldn't make fun of Daisy; she was very helpful on the dig. I could have survived quite well without hearing her lament the loss of her relationship with Sweets, but…she was tolerable."

"Yeah, I heard from Sweets about that. Apparently, he's dating an agent with the Bureau."

"Daisy told me. He wrote her a letter, which was kind of him, but…she was very distraught." Brennan looked down at her hands, twisting them together. "She realized very early on that she had made a mistake in leaving."

"Yeah?" Booth asked softly, the double inference not lost on him.

"Yes." Brennan was quiet for a moment. "I am sorry I didn't contact you, Booth. I was…confused. And lost. And I just…"

"Needed some perspective, I know." He gave up fighting the urge and reached up to brush her new bangs off her forehead. "I understand, Bones. I didn't like it, but I get it."

Her earnest, hopeful look told him that he'd said the right thing. "Really? You're not…mad?"

"Maybe a little hurt, if I'm being honest." Booth smiled to deflect the sadness that crossed Brennan's face. "But I'm already past that, Bones…okay? I mean, you kept in touch with everyone but me, sure…but-"

"Oh, no…I didn't. I didn't contact anyone. It wasn't just you, Booth."

"Oh." Booth rubbed the side of his nose with a knuckle and frowned a bit. "So you didn't even talk to Angela? Cam?"

Shaking her head, Brennan suddenly wished she still had her cup to focus on. "I…realize that it was selfish of me not to keep in touch, but I just…Angela sometimes bulldozes over me and-"

"Steamrolls, Bones. She steamrolls over you." Booth realized, at that familiar, once-again-correcting-Temperance-Brennan moment, just how damn much he had missed his partner.

"Right. The point is, I needed to work things out on my own, with no outside influence. And Angela tends to insert her opinion whether I ask for it or not. As much as I love her, I needed to do this on my own." She looked Booth in the eye and hoped he would understand her total isolation, even if deep down even she didn't, not really.

He nodded, absently, still trying to wrap his head around the idea of not talking to your loved ones for an entire year. "No, I get it Bones. It's fine." He decided a little white lie was the way to go at the moment. "But…that means that you don't know about Cam, then?"

"Is she okay?" Brennan looked panicked for a moment.

"Oh, hey…yeah. Yes, she's fine. Just…about four months pregnant." Booth grinned, loving the look of utter shock on Brennan's face.

"Cam is having a baby? Really?" Of all the things Booth could have told her that was definitely at the bottom of the list. "With that doctor she was seeing before we left?"

"Paul. Yeah. Apparently, they're pretty happy." He shook his head in amazement. "I never thought I'd see the day when Camille Saroyan was excited to be pregnant."

"Well." Brennan was at a loss. "That's…good. For them, I mean. I'm happy for her. Them."

"Yeah, it's good." Looking around, Booth realized that it was getting darker, and he still had one more reunion to attend. "Listen, Bones…did you drive over here?"

"No, I took a cab. My car is still in storage, I just got back this morning so I haven't had a chance to get it." She wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "Why, did you have somewhere you needed to be?"

Booth grinned. "Yeah, I want to go see Parker."

"Oh!" She covered her mouth in embarrassment. "I can't believe I didn't think of Parker! Yes, you should go! We can talk later, tomorrow, or…"

"How about we meet at the diner for breakfast?" Booth suddenly realized how much he missed sharing a meal with her.

Smiling in relief, Brennan agreed, then moved to stand. "So, I guess this is goodbye."

"Til tomorrow, anyway." Booth threw caution to the wind and reached for her again, wrapping grateful arms around her and breathing her in one more time. "I really, really missed you, Bones."

With her face buried in Booth's chest, Brennan felt comfortable enough to allow the lone tear that escaped to slide down her cheek. "I really missed you, too." She pulled back and smiled up at him. "Welcome home, Booth."

He matched her smile. "Welcome home, Bones."

* * *

><p>Brennan paid the cab driver and waved him on with barely a glance as she stood and took in the brick façade of the Jeffersonian for the first time in a year. Despite her outward declarations that field work and overseas digs were why she became an anthropologist, the building before her had slowly and surely become one of the main ways she identified her career as a scientist…and she loved that fact. She acknowledged that her work with Booth had intensified that feeling, but the sterile setting, the cool glass and steel interior, the small, classic mahogany touches that remained untouched from when the lab was first constructed were why the Medico-Legal Lab had come to really, truly feel like her home.<p>

Stepping across the threshold, Brennan breathed deeply and literally felt her disposition change from world traveling anthropologist to rational, empirical scientist. She could see her darkened office, the shadowed platform, and the soft light from Cam's office suite from where she stood, taking everything in. She found herself propelled to her erstwhile boss's domain, suddenly excited to see her after such a long separation.

When she reached the doorway, she paused to watch her friend as she filled out whatever paperwork was decorating her desk. Aside from a new, sleeker haircut Cam looked largely unchanged. Until, that is, she stood to reach for a book on the shelf behind her, and Brennan could clearly see the baby bump protruding from Cam's normally-flat abdomen. The sight brought out a range of emotions Brennan had a hard time cataloguing, but the one that seemed to stick out the most was…envy. Pushing that aside, she cleared her throat and entered the room.

"Hello, Dr. Saroyan." She gave Cam a tentative smile.

Wheeling around, Cam smiled brightly. "Dr. Brennan!" She crossed the room quickly, and Brennan was shocked to find herself enveloped in a sweet-smelling and surprisingly comforting embrace. "Welcome home!" She leaned back and took in her co-worker closely. "You look good! New haircut?"

Stepping back, Brennan nodded. "Yes, it seemed…more prudent in the hotter climes to have something easy to care for. Your hair is different, too." She tipped her head to the side, considering. "I rather like it."

Unconsciously, Cam reached up and touched the ends of her newly-bobbed look. "Thank you. My thoughts were the same; this is so much easier than before."

Brennan tilted her head to the side. "Pregnancy suits you as well. I am very happy for you, Cam. I wasn't aware that your relationship with Dr. Lidner had become so serious."

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan. And to be honest, Paul and I didn't exactly plan any of this." She waved a hand in front of her abdomen. "But it's good. Sometimes, you have to find what makes you happy and just grab onto it with both hands, and that is what we decided to do."

"That's…it's really wonderful, Cam." Brennan's face held nothing but open and honest happiness at her friend's joy.

To say that Cam was intrigued by Brennan's more relaxed demeanor was an understatement. It was subtle, but if you knew what to look for it was there. "And how was the dig? Did you find what you were looking for?"

Giving her friend an enigmatic smile, Brennan nodded. "Yes, and some things I never expected."

Cam returned the smile, deciding to let the vague answer go for the moment. "I'm glad you're back, in any case. Clark is good but he's not you. And I am especially glad to have Dr. Hodgins home; I am looking forward to having one doctor for bugs, rocks and slime."

Brennan fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I would advise you not to inform Dr. Hodgins that it took three people to replace him. We will never hear the end of it."

"Believe me, I hadn't planned on it." Cam agreed. "And we need Angela as well. We had someone from Egyptology here doing sketches, but Angela password-protected the Angelatron and wouldn't give me the code. She said she was afraid someone would mess up her equipment if they didn't know how to use it."

"Of course she did. Remember when Wendell tried to use it a few months before we left?"

Cam laughed. "Oh, yes. He's still trying to wipe the security camera images of Angela and Hodgins out of his mind."

Shaking her head, Brennan stood and prepared to head for her office. "Well, as satisfying as the Maluku dig was, I am glad to be home and to have the team back together."

"Well…" Cam looked pained. "Almost everyone."

"Who are we missing?"

"Sweets." Cam sighed. "He likes teaching at Quantico. He claims he isn't coming back. And believe me; I tried to talk him into it."

"Hmm." Brennan got that look in her eye, the one Cam knew as the look she got right before she made a big decision. "Maybe he can be persuaded."

"Well, I wish you luck, Dr. Brennan. And don't come back in until Monday. Enjoy your weekend."

"There's no such thing as luck." Brennan moved to leave the office, stopping suddenly at the doorway. "But thank you anyway, Cam." Then she was gone.

Cam shook her head in amusement. Apparently, some things never changed.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Brennan entered the Royal Diner for the first time in a year. She let the familiarity wash over her, surprised by how comforting she found it. Of course, seeing Booth sitting at their usual table, two cups of coffee in front of him, helped that feeling along.<p>

"Mornin' Bones!" Booth stood as Brennan sat down, waving to the waitress to come and take their order. "How's the lab? Still intact?"

Missing the joke, Brennan nodded as she stirred sweetener into her cup. "Of course. Cam is an exceptional administrator. Everything looked to be the same as…" She stopped when she saw the goofy grin on Booth's face. "You were kidding. I'm sorry." She shook her head ruefully.

Booth's grin softened and he reached for her hand across the table. "I really missed you, Bones."

Brennan barely had time to process the idea of holding hands with Booth when a call from behind her drew their attention.

"Sweetie!" Angela immediately had Brennan wrapped up in an embrace of slim arms, expensive French perfume and love. "Oh, I missed you! I love your hair!"

Brennan pulled back and grinned at her best friend. "I missed you too, Ang. You look great." She stood and moved to embrace the man smiling behind Angela. "Dr. Hodgins."

"Hey Dr. B." Returning the hug, Jack looked over Brennan's shoulder. "Hey, Booth!" He released Brennan and reached over to slap Booth on the back. "Welcome home, man!"

"Thanks, Hodgins." Booth couldn't wipe the smile off his face although he was a little surprised at his own intense reaction to seeing their friends after so long. "It's really good to see you."

"Oh, you too, Booth" Angela purred. "I, however, am not settling for just a slap on the shoulder. Come here." She motioned Booth onto his feet and gave him a tight embrace. "You look fantastic, Booth. Really."

"Thanks, Ang. You look beautiful as always." He moved to the other side of the table and pulled out the chair next to Brennan. "Why don't you guys join us for breakfast? We can catch up."

"Great idea." Hodgins agreed, sitting across from Booth next to the window. "I'm dying for something to eat that doesn't involve heavy cream, butter or snails."

Booth laughed. "I thought you loved snails, man."

"Studying them, sure. Eating them? Not so much." Hodgins and Booth displayed twin shudders as the women next to them rolled their eyes.

The waitress chose that moment to come over and take everyone's breakfast orders, and she was gone for less than a second before Angela began peppering her friends with questions about their sabbaticals. "So, Bren…did you find what you were looking for? Was Daisy a complete pain in the butt the whole time? Did you meet any interesting men? Did you guys miss me?"

Brennan shook her head, laughing at the artist's enthusiasm. "The dig was successful, although we did not meet our original goal. And no, Miss Wick was not as irritating as I had anticipated. She…it was nice to have a little bit of home there, as overwhelming as she can be at times." She smiled warmly. "And yes, I missed you very much, Angela."

Booth agreed, noticing that the sincerity in Brennan's declaration caused Angela to miss the fact that her friend had avoided answering all of her rapid-fire queries, something Booth did not. He watched closely as Angela cooed over his partner's comment, but decided that he didn't want to know the answer to the question standing up and begging for attention in the back of his mind.

The foursome enjoyed a nice, leisurely breakfast, getting reacquainted with enthusiasm. When it came time to pay the bill, Hodgins and Booth fought good-naturedly for it before Booth finally let the scientist win. They all stepped out into the early morning sunlight, saying their goodbyes as Hodgins and Angela headed out to check in at the Jeffersonian while Booth planned to go to the Hoover to get his paperwork in and re-certify as a marksman before he could resume work.

"What do you have planned, Bones? You want to meet for lunch later?" Booth was hopeful to get more than just a few minutes alone with Brennan, if for nothing else but to get a feel for how things really were between them and how their interrupted partnership was going to proceed.

Brennan shook her head. "I have something important to do this morning, Booth. I don't know how long it will take, but maybe we could meet for dinner?"

Booth smiled in relief. "Sure, Bones. If you don't mind pizza and a ten year-old chaperone? Parker and I were going to Mama's tonight."

"Oh…" She hesitated. "I don't want to intrude. You haven't seen your son in a year, Booth. You two should spend some time together."

Booth took a chance and ran a hand down her arm. "And we will, but he told me last night that he missed you, too. He wants to see you." He grinned, using every weapon at his disposal to convince her. "C'mon, Bones…you don't want to disappoint him, do you? Hmm?"

Quirking her lips, Brennan relented. "Alright, alright. No more. I'll go."

"Excellent!" Booth clapped his hands together. "Pick you up around six?"

"Sure." She reached out and squeezed his forearm before heading off to find her car. Booth watched her walk away, wondering at the seeming ease in which they slipped back into their previous relationship, and hoping that, despite everything that had happened before they both ran off, there might be some forward motion there as well.

* * *

><p>Dr. Lance Sweets stood in front of the lecture hall full of FBI and DEA recruits with a relaxed, confident demeanor. He had been teaching this combined class for almost nine months and was surprised to find that not only was he very good at it, he really enjoyed the challenge as well. At first, he had encountered more than a few recruits that reminded him of Booth in the way they treated him like a child, but most were around his age and that added to his level of comfort in the classroom. At the moment, however, his students watched, disgruntled, as Sweets held up a sheath of paper to get their attention.<p>

"This brings us to the part of class you're all looking most forward to - the take home midterm." Sweets smiled at the moans and groans from the disgruntled recruits. "Take one and pass it back. If you have any questions regarding the format of the sample profile you're supposed to be writing, don't hesitate to email your TA's. Remember, each of you have a different profile, so no helping each other. Any midterms submitted after midnight on Monday will have a 10% score deduction for each day it's late."

One of the students near the front raised his hand. "Dr. Sweets, do we have to include birth order and potential trauma at the time of the patient's birth?"

"If it seems relevant, include it. You have all the information you need in the client sample description that's being passed out." He noticed, with a delighted grin, that Brennan was standing quietly in the back of the classroom. Waving at the class, he dismissed them quickly. "Alright, see you on Monday. Have a good weekend."

Brennan waited until the last few stragglers exited the lecture hall before descending the stairs to where Sweets waited by the podium. She hesitated a beat before she moved forward and embraced the younger man lightly. "Dr. Sweets, it's good to see you again."

"Dr. Brennan! It's wicked awesome to see you! I can't believe you're home!" He couldn't contain his excitement at seeing one of his favorite patients again. "How was Indonesia?"

"Very fruitful. We found several examples of early cutting tools that were most likely used by Homo floresiensis as well as rudimentary stone tools used by australopithecines." Brennan ignored the slightly confused look on Sweets' face as she continued. "However, I find that I am glad to be home."

Sweets was genuinely shocked by Brennan's admission, but chose to let it slide. "That's good. And did Agent Booth make it home okay?"

"Yes. We had breakfast this morning with Hodgins and Angela." She gestured to a table near the front of the room, offering Sweets a seat. "In fact, Booth is the reason I am here."

"Oh, so it wasn't just because you missed me, huh?"

"No." Brennan sighed, shaking her head. "I am worried that Booth is going to have trouble adjusting to life as a civilian."

Sweets sat up, concern etched across his face. "Really? What makes you think that might be the case?"

"You're going to think I'm being irrational." She crossed her arms across her chest in a classic defensive posture.

Sweets bit back a smile. "I assure you, Dr. Brennan, I will consider your observations and opinions as like, totally valid. You are closer to Booth than anyone, you would know if something was wrong."

Brennan seemed to consider his words carefully before continuing. "Very well. He seems…jumpy."

"Jumpy?"

"Jumpy."

"Hmm." The young doctor stroked his goatee in an unintentional parody of Freud, an impersonation that almost brought an uncharacteristic giggle from Brennan. She squelched it tightly as she waited for Sweets to weigh in. "He's not his normally comfortable, relaxed, gregarious self? Is that what you mean?"

"In a manner of speaking." She sighed. "I understand that it could simply be a reaction to the change in time zone, change in environment, or change in daily routine…but something just seems unbalanced to me." She shook her head again. "I know, I'm being silly."

"No…no, Dr. Brennan. Like I said, you would know Booth more than anyone."

"Well…I used to. Now that I find that I am tasked with relearning the dynamics of our relationship, it is in that endeavor I am realizing the changes in him. And they seem to be unrelated to a simple internal body clock issue." Brennan bit her lip, trying to convey the appropriate amount of concern.

"So, what is it that you would like for me to do? Speak with him about his experience in Afghanistan? You know as well as I do that Booth doesn't respond well to confrontation about his personal life."

Brennan took a deep breath and shook her head. "I think that you need to come back to the FBI."

Sweets stood and walked decisively to his desk at the front of the room. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan, but I find that I am very happy here at Quantico. I feel as if I am really making a difference, you know?" He shuffled some papers on his desk. "I am training a whole new generation of profilers, and I can't think of anything I want to do more."

Brennan decided that the subtle approach wasn't working. "Not even to help out a friend who might need to very badly?"

"Dr. Brennan, you've given me no evidence to back up your claim that Booth is in any distress. It's like you said, he's only been home a day. He's still adjusting. It's probable that he needs a week or two to get back into the swing of things, and then he'll be the same old Special Agent Seeley Booth you know and lo-I mean, you know…he'll be back to normal." His gaze softened at Brennan's obvious worry. "Look, give it a couple of weeks. Once you get a case or two under your belts, if you still see the same symptoms, give me a call. I'll talk to him. Alright?"

Nodding, Brennan stood, smoothing the front of her coat absently, an unfamiliar look on her face. "Fine. But please, just…if you would think about coming back, I would appreciate that. You know that Booth doesn't trust any other profiler like he trusts you. It could affect our close rate in the end."

Internally, Sweets cursed the woman standing in front of him. He knew that there was more to her plea, and although he had a suspicion, he had a hard time believing it and was tempted to dismiss it out of hand. "I can't promise anything, Dr. Brennan."

"I understand." Brennan stepped forward and rested her hand on Sweets' shoulder. "Just think about it." The door at the top of the room banged open, making them both jump. Dropping her hand unceremoniously, Brennan's eyes flicked to the incoming recruits and then back to the younger man. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Sweets. It was good to see you." And with that, she was gone.

Sweets looked around at the students taking their seats for a moment, before walking calmly out the side door and softly slamming his forehead to the wall. "Dammit."

B&B

Brennan was unsatisfied with her talk with Sweets, finding that her interpersonal skills had not improved as much as she had hoped in the span of a year. Richard had helped her a bit with picking up verbal clues and body language, but there was so much more she still needed to learn. Yet even with her limited abilities, she knew she had most certainly failed in convincing Sweets to come back to their team. Resolute in finding another way, she headed for her car, only stopping long enough to answer her ringing cell.

"Bones! We're back, baby!"

"Booth? What are you talking about?" She unlocked her car door and slid into the driver's seat.

"We have a case! Where are you, anyway?"

Brennan could hear scattered noises in the background and ignored Booth's question for one of her own. "Where are you?" She started her car and switched her phone to Bluetooth before pulling out of the parking lot. "I need directions to the crime scene, but I can be there soon."

"Nope, no crime scene, Bones. The bodies are already here at the lab."

"What? Someone moved the remains? How am I supposed to properly analyze the scene if I haven't; actually seen it, Booth?" She merged smoothly onto I-95 despite her ire. "I can't believe you've forgotten how I like to work!"

"Bones, calm down. The reason you can't go to the scene is that it is too dangerous. There was a bombing, and they haven't cleared it for inspection. But they took hundreds of photos and thousands of samples. They did it as close to your specifications as possible." Booth sighed into the phone. "There's nothing I can do about it now, Bones."

Brennan sniffed, still irritated, but no longer with Booth. "Fine. I am on my way to the lab now; I will be there within the hour."

"Wait…where are you, Bones? Bones?" Booth pulled the phone back, staring at the now-blank display screen.

* * *

><p>Booth stood in front of the sliding glass doors of the lab proper, staring at the platform in front of him. Brennan, Hodgins and Cam stood examining the two bodies in front of them while Vincent Nigel-Murray hovered over to the side, inspecting the preliminary x-rays on the monitors. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Booth crossed the room and swiped his card, thrilled that it worked flawlessly, before bounding up the steps to the main platform.<p>

"Hey, hey, squints! Looks like the gang's all here!" He rubbed his hands together in excitement.

Brennan, never looking away from her inspection of the body in front of her, replied. "Not everyone, Angela is not present."

Sighing, Booth shook his head. "But she is in the building, which is what I meant, Bones." He looked to Brennan's current intern. "Hey, uh…yeah. How're you doing?"

Vincent shook off Booth's obvious inability to remember his name. "Vincent Nigel-Murray, Agent Booth. And I am doing quite well. How was your sabbatical?"

Booth nodded, attention already shifting away from the young student. "Fine, fine…"

"Did you know that the sabbatical was popularized by Harvard professors as early as 1880 as a way to give not only the educators, but the students a period of rest every seven years? In fact-"

"Relevance, Mr. Nigel-Murray." Cam chided.

Smiling slightly, Vincent moved back to the monitors he had been studying earlier. "Yes, of course." He cleared his throat. "Dr. Brennan, it is clear from the x-rays that victim number one sustained multiple bone traumas as a result of the explosion. I will have to inspect the actual remains in order to properly catalogue all of the injuries and when and how they occurred."

Brennan nodded. "That is correct, Mr. Nigel-Murray. However, I would like you to concentrate your examination of victim number two." At Cam's questioning glance, she continued. "The second victim is much less desiccated and I require adequate time to go over the injuries to victim number one before I allow you to examine her."

"Very well, Dr. Brennan." Vincent moved to the second table. "Dr. Saroyan, will you be conducting the autopsy?"

Moving to join the intern next to the table, Cam nodded. "Of course. Help me take him to the autopsy suite, and as soon as I am done you can clean the bones." She addressed Hodgins. "As long as all particulates and evidence have been removed from the clothing and body?"

Hodgins nodded. "Yep. I have everything I need. These are the only victims in the Cromwell Building bombing, correct?"

"Yeah." Booth shook his head. "Fire and rescue went over every inch of that place; no one else was working late on a Thursday night."

"I find it interesting that Cromwell was named for Oliver Cromwell, the British general, considering the fact that they are known for supplying the US military with support and equipment. Very apropos." Vincent ignored Cam's glare and kicked the brake on the table, moving to wheel it off the platform.

Laughing, Hodgins slapped Booth's shoulder as he passed. "Some things never change, eh G-man?"

"Tell me about it." Booth groused, his attention on Brennan as she bent forward to inspect a metatarsal. "Same 'ol, same 'ol."

Brennan turned her head slightly, watching Booth watching her. "You should go do your cop thing, Booth. This is going to take me awhile. It could be hours before Angela has a face."

"My 'cop thing', Bones?" He gave her the grin she had been missing for the last twelve months, whether she acknowledged that fact or not. "Alright, fine. I'll go do my 'cop thing' and you do your 'bone thing' and we'll catch us a mad bomber. The CEO of Cromwell is already on his way to the Hoover so I can speak with him, how about after that we catch some lunch? Sound like a plan?"

Distracted again by the bones in front of her, Brennan nodded absently. "If my initial assessment is completed, then yes. That sounds satisfactory."

"Satisfactory. Yeah. Good." Booth fought the urge to roll his eyes good-naturedly and stepped off the platform, heading for the doors. "See ya later, Bones!" In his rush to leave, he missed Brennan's almost infinitesimal look his way, filled with something that, if he had caught it, would have improved his day even more.

Hodgins, however, did not miss the look, and made a note to share his newfound knowledge with his wife as soon as possible.

B&B

Booth sat behind his desk, carefully observing the well-dressed man sitting in the chair opposite. Cromwell CEO Alex Nasir seemed genuinely distressed about the death of two of his employees, and his willingness to help with the investigation without ground rules or caveats only served to impress Booth even more.

"I just…" Nasir ran a hand through his hair over and over. Normally a very fastidious man, his dishevelment was almost jarring in contrast to his neat and tidy clothing. "I can't believe that anyone would be so opposed to our helping the US military that they would put innocent lives at risk." He blanched. "Alright, maybe I can believe it. I just wish I couldn't."

Booth leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, hands clasped in front of him. "I'm sorry about all of this, Mr. Nasir. But I need to know if all of your employees have been accounted for. We have two bodies in the lab and no identities as of yet."

Nasir nodded sadly. "Yes. Unfortunately our night janitor, Xavier Jordan, was reported missing by his family." The man looked off, unseeing, over Booth's shoulder. "Xavier has been with us since the beginning, a good man with nine children and almost forty grandchildren. And, I am proud to say, my friend. I-" He broke off, closing his eyes to the grief. After a moment, he shook his head and continued. "And Megan Christian, one of my best analysts. She's only been with us for a little over four years, but she's…she was amazing. A damn fine employee and such a kind heart. I was hoping she had gone home early for a change, but she always worked late on Thursdays because her reports were due every Friday and she wanted them perfect."

Booth nodded in sympathy. "I am sorry for your loss, sir." He cleared his throat, strangely touched by the caring the other man had shown for his employees. "If you have contact information for their families, I would like to speak with them."

"Oh, uh…Xavier's wife passed away several years ago, but I have his son's phone number. And Megan…she didn't have any family that I knew of. Her hard copy records were lost in the…explosion, but we accessed the contact information remotely and she didn't list anyone as an emergency contact. And none of my other employees knew of her having anyone to speak of." He pulled out some papers and handed them to Booth. "This is everything we have on them."

"Thank you." Booth took a quick look and inserted them in the case file. "Now, as far as finding the people who did this, I need a list of any threats your company has gotten in the last twelve months. We can start there."

Nasir sniffed. "Who haven't we gotten threats from? Not in Our Name, TrueMajority, Code Pink, although they're essentially harmless…hell, even the Westboro Baptist Church crazies sent us a letter or two. It's the nature of our business, Agent Booth. We attract the anti-war factions, pure and simple." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Or maybe, not so simple."

"Don't worry, Mr. Nasir. My team is very good. We will find out how this happened." Booth stood, indicating the interview was over.

Reaching to shake Booth's hand, Nasir stopped suddenly. "Oh! I almost forgot the Twilight of Idols nuts!"

"Who?" Booth asked.

"The Method of the Twilight of Idols. A virulent anti-war group. They've been around since the early Seventies, mostly old school hippies. Their threats have been mostly of the corporate and legal kind, but they are the most persistent."

Grabbing his pen, Booth started to write. "That's one hell of a long name. Do they have an acronym?"

Nasir collected his coat, shaking his head. "Not as far as I know. We just refer to them as our biggest pains in the ass."

Thanking the man again, Booth escorted him out, only to find himself face-to-face with a decidedly nervous-looking Sweets.

"Sweets!" Booth gave the kid a quick pat on the back and took in his new goatee. "Good to see you, man! What in the hell is that dead animal doing on your chin?"

Sweets accepted the teasing with ease. "It's good to see you too, Booth. And leave the beard alone. I like it. Claudia likes it. It's staying."

"Whoa…nice attitude, Sweets!" Booth mimed wiping away a tear. "My little boy is growing up."

"Shut up, Booth." Sweets replied, complete with eye roll.

"Oh, you love it." Booth slapped him in the chest with the case file he was holding. "And speaking of things you love, how's about giving me a profile on the group who bombed the Cromwell building, hmm?"

"Well…I hadn't decided yet if…"

"Great! Here's the info. Gimme a call when you have something!"

Unable to lodge a protest, Sweets watched with dismay as Booth grabbed his jacket and headed for the elevators, whistling. "Dammit."

* * *

><p>Inside the SUV en route to interview the members of the Method of the Twilight of Idols, Brennan gave Booth a rundown of the group. "They were formed in 1971 as a direct result of the Vietnam War protests, formed under the works of Randolph Bourne, an early-19th century essayist."<p>

"What were his essays about?" Booth signaled a turn, keeping his eyes on the road.

Brennan flipped the folder she was reading closed. "His most famous work, a 1918 essay entitled, of course, "Twilight of Idols", examined the how America justified war by claiming it was spreading democracy, while never actually examining democracy itself. I've read it, and it's quite pedantic. How anyone could draw the conclusions Bourne did is preposterous."

"So these guys read the essay, decided Bourne was right, and decided to 'fight the man'?"

"Essentially. According to Angela's research, they are mostly concerned with using frivolous lawsuits and corporate sabotage to get their point across. Thus far, there is no evidence that they have ever resorted to any kind of violence." Brennan pulled a photo of the destroyed Cromwell building out of the folder. "Especially this level of violence."

Brennan's phone beeped. "That's Angela." Scrolling through the text, she tapped a quick reply. "Dentals confirm the victims were Xavier Jordan and Megan Christian."

Booth tapped the steering wheel nervously. "Alright. Okay. Let's just talk to these Twilight people and then we'll notify Mr. Jordan's family."

"Alright, Booth." Brennan pointed. "That's it, there. 2613."

They pulled into a long driveway that curved towards a large, three-story Victorian home. Getting out of the car, Booth took in the massive structure with a frown. "This doesn't look like the headquarters of an anti-war group to me. It looks like someone's family lives here."

Brennan rounded the SUV and joined Booth on the walk up the stairs. "Well, this group has been together for a very long time and were, at one time, immersed in the San Francisco anti-war culture, which lends itself to a very communal existence. It's possible that they consider themselves like a family."

Booth's fist halted, poised to knock, as he gave Brennan a curious look. "Good call, Bones."

Brennan just shrugged in response as Booth knocked on the large oak door. It was answered quickly by a young woman with auburn hair and kind eyes.

"Yes, can I help you?" She asked, looking from Booth to Brennan curiously.

"I hope so." Booth replied, flashing his badge. "I'm FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth; this here's my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian. We're looking for someone to speak with about the Method of the Twilight of Idols?"

The woman sighed and opened the door further. "Of course, come on in." She ushered them into the entryway, closing the door firmly behind her. "I'm Virginia Woolf, I'm not a member, but my parents are the leaders of the group." Acknowledging Booth and Brennan's reactions to her name, she smiled slightly. "Hippie parents." She explained. "Please, this way."

Virginia led the partners into a massive great room, where several late middle-aged people were gathered, obviously discussing something that had spurred a heated debate. The man standing in the middle of the room stopped mid-sentence and stared at the newcomers.

"Virginia? Who do we have here?" He asked.

"FBI, Dad. This is Special Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan. They're here about the group."

"Ah." The man stepped forward, shaking first Booth and then Brennan's hands. "I am Bartholomew Woolf, leader and founder of Method of the Twilight of Idols." He gestured to a sedate, honey-haired woman on the settee near the fireplace. "This is my wife and co-founder, Madia. What can we help the FBI with today, Agent Booth?" Woolf settled comfortably into a large, wing-backed chair next to his wife, an air of superiority surrounding him.

Not letting the man's obvious attitude bother him, Booth started right in. "We're here investigating the bombing of Cromwell last Thursday night. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, Mr. Woolf?"

A small smile crossed the man's face, making even Brennan wish to throttle him. "Of course not, Agent Booth. We are, by nature, pacifists. We abhor violence in any form, and we certainly do not endorse the bombing of a building that may put innocents in harm's way." He took in Booth's unchanged expression. "Certainly you don't suspect that we would have anything to do with it?"

Booth put one hand on his hip, unintentionally exposing his sidearm. "We have to follow up every lead, Mr. Woolf. And you have made threats directed at Cromwell in the past."

The group looked at each other, obviously uncomfortable. Woolf, however, never wavered from his calm demeanor. "I can assure you; we had nothing to do with the bombing. We would never endorse it."

Brennan stepped forward. "Mr. Woolf, you say that you and your wife founded the group?"

Another look passed between those sitting around the partners. Woolf cleared his throat, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. "Yes, well…the two of us and another member. But she is no longer involved with our activities."

"She?" Booth caught a scent and ran with it. "Who is she? We might need to speak with her as well."

Bartholomew looked pained. "Megan. Megan Christian."

Booth and Brennan exchanged a look. "And why did she leave the group?" Booth managed to ask.

"Her beliefs no longer matched our goals." Madia Woolf spoke up. "She decided that she simply didn't feel the way she used to, and that our methods were in contradiction to her new beliefs. So we let her go."

Booth felt the energy in the room change from semi-relaxed to tense almost immediately. "And so you kicked her out? Was that the only reason?"

Madia looked to her husband, who shook his head and sighed. "I made the incredibly selfish and stupid mistake of conducting an affair with Megan. Once it came out, and in light of Megan's changing views, it was thought best that we part ways."

"And how long ago was this?"

"Almost four years ago." Woolf replied.

"And the last time you saw Megan?"

"Almost four years ago."

Booth made a note and looked up to see Madia exchange a look with her daughter. "Mrs. Woolf? Do you have something to add?"

She looked to her husband briefly before responding. "A few weeks ago, Virginia and I saw Megan on the street." Woolf's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he allowed his wife to continue. "We didn't speak, she passed by where we were eating lunch, I don't think she even saw us."

"Alright." Booth slid his pen back into his pocket and turned to Brennan. "Ready, Bones?"

Brennan looked at him, confused. "Aren't we going to speak to everyone?"

"Nah, no need." Booth reached out and shook Woolf's hand. "Thank you all for your time. Please stay in the area, we may be in touch." Booth turned and allowed Virginia to lead them out of the room.

Once back in the car, Brennan turned to Booth. "What was that about? We learned next to nothing about the group or where they all were. Usually, we at least speak with everyone."

Booth shook his head as he guided the car back onto the highway. "It doesn't track, Bones. These people have never, in the forty years they've been around, resorted to violence. They're respected, as much as groups like this ever are, in their circles. Killing Megan Christian four years after the fact, when everything was said and done, seems out of place."

"That…that is logical." Brennan agreed. "But what about the wife? Couldn't she have killed Megan in a jealous rage?"

Booth smiled. "This is the part you hate, Bones. Psychology." Ignoring Brennan's eye roll, he continued. "First of all, no woman scorned is going to wait four years to exact her revenge. No offense, but you women act on the emotion of the moment in a situation like this. You know, like running us over with your Mercedes or shooting us in our sleep."

"I would be much more systematic, but I understand what you are saying. However, Madia said that she had seen Megan a few weeks ago. Couldn't that have triggered her ire?"

Booth chose to ignore the first part of Brennan's comment. "Nah, she seemed more sad about the situation than anything else. I didn't see any fire behind it. Besides, that bombing took planning and forethought. Not something Mrs. Woolf could have pulled off in a week and a half right under her husband's nose." He signaled to merge onto the highway. "I think that whatever anger Madia Woolf had for Megan Christian has faded over time into something a lot less dangerous."

Brennan was hopelessly lost. "What, Booth?"

"Heartbreak at the loss of their friendship." Booth glanced at her, seeing the expected head shake. "I'm serious, Bones. They were close a long time, they founded this group which, as you said, was like a pseudo family…she _was_ family to Madia. And yes, her betrayal was painful, but over time I think she just realized that she missed her friend."

"I don't understand that at all." Brennan sighed.

Booth stared straight ahead, eyes determinedly on the road. "Sometimes, a little distance is what you need to give you perspective into what is really important in life."

Angela strolled into Cam's office, prepared to hand in her paperwork and catalogued evidence for the current case, when she stopped in her tracks. Cam was reclining in her desk chair, a well-worn copy of _What To Expect When You're Expecting_ open in front of her as she shoveled Chili Cheese Fritos into her mouth by the handful.

Chuckling, Angela set the paperwork on the desk, causing Cam to jump slightly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I have the completed paperwork here; and the Angelatron is rendering the facial recognition evidence onto disc to catalogue with everything else." She crossed her arms as her boss attempted to hide her reading material. "And what are you, a medical doctor, doing reading that particular book? Don't you already know all that stuff? Doesn't Paul?"

"Of course we both know, but it's a lot different in theory than it is in practice." Cam waved a hand across her midsection. "Weird things are happening with my body and I need to know why."

"I can't even imagine." Sighing, Angela sat across from the desk with a pensive look.

Cam could tell that clearly something was bothering her forensic artist. "Something else on your mind, Angela?"

"Do you ever feel trapped in your relationship with Paul? Like, this wasn't exactly planned, but now you really can't get out of it gracefully?" The quickly blurted question took Cam by surprise.

"Never." She answered definitively. "Do I wish we had planned things better? Sure. Do I regret how fast we've moved? Sometimes." Cam rested her hand on her belly. "But when it's right? When you feel comfortable enough to share your fears and regrets and ask for some space? The path you took to get there, no matter how unconventional…is always worth it. Paul and I are committed to making it work. Not just for the baby, but for ourselves."

Nodding, Angela stood. "That's wonderful, Cam. I…" She smiled softly. "I am really happy that you're happy."

"Thanks, Angela. Are you sure there isn't anything else?"

Angela affected an air of artificial casualness. "No, thanks. I'm going to head to lunch. Do you want me to bring something back?"

Cam sat up straight, smiling. "Yes! A cheeseburger! Extra onions…and have them put coleslaw on it!"

"Ew." Angela laughed. "You got it, mama."

B&B

After leaving Cam, Angela crossed the lab platform to Brennan's office. Obviously catching her friend in a quiet, reflective moment, she stood silently and watched as more than one emotion crossed Brennan's face as she sat at her desk staring off into space. Not wanting to startle her, Angela cleared her throat to get Brennan's attention, smiling when she looked almost guilty at being caught doing absolutely nothing.

"Hey, Ang."

"Bren, you want to go get lunch? I'm starving. Plus we have to pick up some disgusting food combination for our preggo boss." She leaned against the desk, hopeful grin on her face.

Brennan sighed, not really in the mood to have what Angela would inevitably classify as "girl talk" but unable to think of a good reason not to accept her friend's invitation. "That sounds good, Ang. Just let me get my bag and I'll meet you outside. Is Hodgins coming with us?"

Angela bristled slightly. "No, just because I'm married doesn't mean I have to eat every single meal with him. Let's just go!"

Brennan cocked an eyebrow at Angela's sudden outburst but chose to ignore it. "Okay, let's go." She followed Angela out of the lab, knowing that something was wrong but not knowing what questions to ask to find out.

B&B

Unable to find his wife or her best friend, Hodgins heads to Cam's office to find her still munching on Fritos, but now surfing the internet for couture maternity clothes.

"Hey Cam, I have the composition of the bomb figured out. Pretty basic stuff, really." Hodgins looked up from his notes. "You want to call Booth and let him know?"

Cam looked up from her research and shook her head. "No, you call him. You understand what you're talking about, I don't."

"Since when do we call Booth? I thought everything went through you."

"New year, new rules. Call Booth." Cam nodded in dismissal and turned back to her monitor.

Heading out to grab his phone, Hodgins shook his head and muttered to himself. "This place makes women crazy."

B&B

Sweets followed Booth down the hallway as he talked to Hodgins. "Yeah, thanks man. I'll be there as soon as I can." He flipped the phone shut and pointed to the bullpen. "There's your way-too-hot-for-you girlfriend, Agent Turner. Go say hi, Hooch. I have to get to the lab." He walked away, laughing to himself.

"Hooch?" Sweets asked, confused. Shaking his head, he headed over to where his girlfriend stood chatting with her fellow agents.

B&B

Booth, Hodgins and Vincent stood around the monitors in the ookey room while Hodgins explained the make-up of the bomb that killed their victims. "Ammonium nitrate, nitromethane, Tovex, which is ammonium nitrate and methylammonium nitrate combined, ammonium nitrate-infused fuel oil and a detonator composed of cannon fuse and shock tube."

"Okay…what does all that mean? Is it unusual?" Booth asked.

"Not really." Hodgins admitted. "In fact, it's the same type of bomb used to blow up the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City."

Vincent jumped in. "Oh! Did you know, that when Timothy McVeigh was arrested after the bombing, he was wearing a t-shirt that read _Sic semper tyrannis_, which means "Thus always to tyrants" and was the phrase yelled by John Wilkes Booth after shooting Lincoln."

Booth glared at the intern, holding himself back from punching the kid by a thread. Hodgins recognized the look and put two and two together, and hurriedly moved the conversation along. "All the materials are easily acquired through different means and they're going to be next to impossible to trace."

"Yeah, that's great, Hodgins." Booth shook his head, frustrated that they were no closer to figuring out the bomber than they were when the bodies were first brought in. While he was planning his next course of action, Angela and Brennan returned from lunch and joined them.

"Hey." Booth nodded to both women. "Hodgins figured out the bomb, it's just too common to help us out much."

Brennan moved to read the computer monitor, while Angela stood closer to Booth, moving away from Hodgins. Booth noticed, and looked to the bug man, who pretended not to.

"If everyone wants to come to my office, I have a simulation ready for the pattern of the bomb." Angela waved at the door, and led everyone out and down to her Angelator room. Booth waited until Vincent and the women had exited before grabbing Hodgins by the arm to slow him down.

"Hey…" He looked around, not entirely enjoying the conversation but as he considered Jack a friend he knew he had to ask. "Is everything okay with you and Ang? I just ask because…she seemed, I don't know…uncomfortable."

Hodgins, for his part, didn't look any more pleased with the discussion than Booth did. "Oh…no, yeah. Yeah." He nodded, more to himself than to the agent in front of him. "She's just…adjusting. You know? We spent a year in one of the most beautiful cities in the world only to come back to more murder and mayhem. She needs some time, I guess."

Booth didn't really buy Hodgins' explanation but was content to let it go for the time being. "Alright. Just, you know…" He palmed the back of his neck nervously. "Making sure the team is working at optimum capacity, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Booth." Jack half-smiled and led the way out towards Angela's office.

By the time the two men rejoin the rest of the team, Angela has the simulation cued up and ready to play. "Thanks for joining us, gentlemen." Cam drawled, choosing to ignore the look passing between the latecomers.

"What do you have, Ang?" Booth demanded, staring at the Angelatron and not making eye contact with anyone.

The artist tapped her computer tablet and began the animation. "As you can see here.." She pointed at where the flashpoint was circled against the building. "the bomb was situated right under Megan's office, which was close enough to the center of the building to cause the entire front to collapse inward, onto where she was sitting." Everyone gasped as Angela showed them how her program had been able to recreate the bombing with disturbing accuracy.

"Jesus." Booth breathed. "She didn't have a chance."

Cam closed her eyes for a moment. "That is terrifying."

The rest of the group nodded in agreement as Angela continued the presentation. "In any case, the bomb was much bigger than necessary, and the force of the blast caused the inner walls, furthest away from the flashpoint, to collapse in on themselves. This spot here…" She pointed to another circled area. "is where Mr. Jordan was working. According to Cam, even though he sustained several injuries to his torso, legs and arms, he died from smoke inhalation."

"He was knocked unconscious by the blast and the fire got him." Hodgins explained sadly.

"Right." Angela barely glanced at her husband as she continued. "The bomb was placed directly under Megan's window; she was known to be the only person who worked late on Thursdays…you do the math." She looked at Booth pointedly. "Megan Christian was definitely the target. Xavier Jordan was collateral damage, just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Brennan glanced at Booth. "Do you still believe that the Twilight of Idols group is innocent?"

"Not anymore, Bones." He turned and headed into the main lab, pulling out his phone to call in a warrant for the Twilight groups' financial records, Brennan following behind him closely as the rest of the team scattered throughout the lab. "I need to call this in and find out if any of them have purchased bomb components in the last sixty days."

"Alright. " Brennan buttoned her lab coat and turned to head up the platform. "I will continue to catalogue Megan's injuries for the reports." Booth nodded and waved distractedly as he walked away.

Booth and Sweets sat in a conference room watching the bombing simulation while the psychologist flipped through the financials of the entire membership of The Method of the Twilight of Idols.

"So nothing in their records that even sounded like it could make a bomb?" He asked.

Booth shook his head and responded around a bite of donut. "Nope, unless someone could make a weapon out of Longaberger baskets and toilet paper from Costco."

"Yeah, probably not." Sweets scratched his beard thoughtfully. "I believe that, given the evidence the bomb was definitely personal and absolutely aimed at Megan, but after four years…I just don't see this group as being responsible."

"I kind of figured that out already, thanks." Booth clicked the remote to stop the video. He stopped as something occurred to him, sugary treat held mid-bite. "Personal." He said, almost to himself. "I need to bring someone in." He stood and clapped Sweets on the back, ignoring the younger man's wince, and walked out with barely a glance. "Thanks, Sweets! See ya!"

With a sigh, Sweets closed the case file. "Why am I back here again? Oh yeah, the sense of accomplishment." He said sarcastically as he watched Booth saunter down the hall alone.

B&B

Booth tapped his pen, affecting a bored look as he intently examined the suspect on the other side of the table. "Mrs. Woolf, maybe you can explain exactly the kind of relationship you had with Megan Christian before she left the group."

Madia Woolf sniffed delicately and closed her eyes briefly as if summoning strength from her depths. "I usually just say, 'It was the Seventies, you had to be there.', but that really doesn't tell you anything." She sighed and looked off to a point over Booth's shoulder. "Megan was the sister I never had. She was fun and open and dedicated to the cause. And I loved her, deeply."

Believing her, Booth softened his tone. "So when she betrayed you…"

"I fell apart. Literally." Madia opened the pocketbook on the table and began pulling out medication bottles. All of these are for depression." At Booth's raised eyebrows, she continued. "Well, at first I had a complete breakdown. I tried to take my own life twice, so Bartholemew and Virginia had me committed."

"And you were angry with Megan?"

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "For some unknown reason, I could never bring myself to hate her. Of course, I couldn't be her friend anymore, it was too painful. And I wanted to save my marriage. So having her continue as a part of my life was…non-negotiable."

Booth nodded. "Do you think that your husband was angry with Megan for changing her views?"

Madia let loose a strangled laugh. "Hardly. Batholomew would actually have to care to be angry. And believe me, Agent Booth; my husband only cares for himself and the group. Nothing else would engender such emotion."

"Booth." Sweets sounded in his earpiece. "She's telling the truth."

He gave the kid behind the glass a glare. Thanking the woman for her time, Booth escorted her to the door, wondering to himself if they were ever going to solve their first case back.

B&B

Lunch at the diner with Brennan was the only thing Booth could think of to clear his head. He chuckled inwardly at the irony of Bones giving him clarity, considering how turned around she used to get him just by giving him one of those confused, but incredibly cute, looks of hers. But there it was.

"Booth, I've been over this list a dozen times, literally. I'm not seeing a connection anywhere." Brennan speared a strawberry from her bowl and chewed thoughtfully.

Looking over his own list, Booth shook his head. "I don't even know what most of this stuff is, Bones. Shock tubing? What is that?"

"It is an explosive detonator that uses a percussive charge instead of electrical. It's much safer and easily controlled, so it's mainly used by construction workers, the military, airbag deployment, professional fireworks and the entertainment business, for special effects."

Booth picked up the list of the members of Twilight of Idols and flipped through them again, obviously looking for something specific.

"What is it, Booth?" Brennan leaned forward to see what he was doing.

"Hang on…hang on…here!" He waved a sheet of his own notes in her face. "Bones! That's where we went wrong!"

Booth jumped to his feet and threw a wad of bills on the table. "Come on, Bones!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door of the diner.

"Booth!" Brennan yanked on his hand, trying to stop their forward motion before she crashed into his retreating back. "What has gotten into you?"

Booth wheeled around, eyes bright and excited. "We've been looking into the members of the group, right?"

"Right." She drew the word out as if he were slow.

"That's where we made our mistake!" He dropped her hand and ran from the diner.

"I don't know what that means." Brennan watched him run out, shaking her head and following at a more sedate pace.

B&B

"How long have you worked at the Dayplayer Theater, Ms. Woolf?" Booth leaned back in his chair, staring the woman in front of him down intently.

For her part, Virginia knew that she was finished. She knew it as soon as Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan had showed up at the door of her parent's home. And it simply wasn't in her nature to fight it. "I started working there about ten years ago. That's where I acquired the shock tubing. We used it for small explosions during our last performance of Macbeth."

Booth studied the woman in front of him, understanding that she had given up but feeling no joy in the victory. "You decided to build the bomb after your mother saw Megan on the street."

"No. No…I, it was something I had considered for a long time." At Booth's look, she blanched. "I'm not proud of it, Agent Booth. But if you had seen what my mother was reduced to…" A tear tracked down her cheek. "This woman, who had marched on Washington, who had been arrested numerous times and still stood for her convictions, she was reduced to a shell of herself, wearing restraints in a psych ward. And Megan Christian was responsible for that. I wanted her to suffer like my mother had suffered."

"And your boyfriend, uh…Daniel McClellan? He was the one who obtained the rest of the bomb components?"

Virginia nodded sadly. "I was stupid, I realize that now. Danny was involved in another anti-war group, one with no compunction against violence. And at first, I thought it was…I don't know, exciting, I guess. So different from how I'd been raised. And he was willing to help me get back at Megan."

"How did it happen?"

"I watched her routine for months. I knew when she worked late on Thursday nights. I only had to wait for the right situation. But then we saw Megan on the street, and Mom had another small breakdown, and…I just didn't want to wait anymore."

"But she wasn't the only one in the building, was she?" Booth's voice was tinged with anger.

"No." Tears were flowing freely as Virginia described her horror at finding out that an innocent man had been caught in the explosion. "It was only supposed to be her! I never…Oh, God, it was a mistake…"

Booth never changed his expression in the face of her tears. "Did you ever think of blaming your father?"

"My mother didn't, why would I?"

"Yeah." Booth waved at the observation window and almost instantly, another agent appeared to escort Virginia out, still sobbing to herself.

B&B

The team had gathered at Founding Fathers to celebrate the closing of a case for the first time in a year, and it seemed as though no time had passed, with the notable exceptions of Cam's lack of alcoholic beverage and the presence of Special Agent Claudia Turner, Sweets' girlfriend of six months. The drinks and the conversation flowed, and Booth was surprised to notice that Brennan seemed to really get along with Claudia, even laughing at a few of the more corny jokes the young woman made. Booth and Brennan spoke a little of their respective trips, and Angela and Hodgins regaled the group with their adventures in Europe, including an embarrassing retelling of their near-arrest under the Arc de Triomphe after being caught making out by a Parisian police captain.

After almost two hours of catching up, Paul and Cam said their goodbyes, insisting that Cam needed her sleep more than ever now. Soon after, Sweets and Claudia left, followed almost immediately by Vincent. Hodgins and Angela stayed a little longer, and Booth was pleased to see that Angela seemed more receptive to the affection Jack was offering her. The couple finally made their way out, leaving with promises of getting together sometime soon for dinner, and Booth and Brennan were finally alone for the first time since they reunited at the coffee cart.

"So Bones, how's it feel to get that first case solved under your belt? You still want to do this partners thing with me?" He gave her a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, a little tentative about her answer.

Brennan set her wine glass down and gave him a measured look. "Of course I do, Booth. I just needed…a little perspective, as I said." She started to say something else, and then stopped herself. Booth caught it immediately.

"Was there another reason?" He raised his hand to signal the bartender for another drink.

"I just…it was something Angela said to me, at the airport before I left. She said she hoped that I would discover what it means to be human. And I've been wondering if she only meant that in reference to the australopithecine find." She ran a finger absently along the rim of her glass.

Booth cleared his throat. "Knowing Angela, probably not." He took a breath. "I think you know what she meant, Bones."

Brennan nodded immediately. "Maybe. Yes. I don't know…Booth, it's…just something I'm thinking about, that's all. I promised myself I would consider her words very carefully."

"Well, that's…that's good, Bones." Booth smiled, breaking the tension. "And thinking is what you do best, genius."

"I am very intelligent." She replied with a small smile of her own.

"You most certainly are." He reached out and tapped her glass with his. "So, speaking of thinking…what do you think of Claudia?"

"She's very beautiful. And very nice, I liked her very much." Brennan took another sip of wine. "I think she will be very good for Sweets."

"I think I agree with that." Booth drained his glass and watched as Brennan finished her drink as well. "I'm just glad that Sweets decided to come back to the Hoover."

"As am I. I thought it would take more persuading on my part, but I am glad that it did not." Brennan reached for her coat, not noticing that Booth had stopped in his tracks to stare at her. Turning around, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Booth? Are you alright?"

He shook himself out of his shock and smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, Bones. I'm great. Are you ready?" He took her coat and pulled it over her shoulders, helping her into the warm wool.

Brennan turned to smile at him. "Yes, Booth. I'm ready when you are."

* * *

><p><em><strong>As the team gets back into their routine Booth and Brennan continue to explore how their yearlong separation has affected their partnership. And a new investigation will test their patience and Hodgins' expertise. Join us next week for Episode 6.5 x 02: The Panic at the Disco, written by Squinttoyou.<strong>_


	2. Panic at the Disco

Season 6.5 x 02: The Panic at the Disco ~ Written by Squinttoyou

A bulb flickered over the bar creating a strange slow-motion strobe as the light reflected off the mirrors on the wall and bounced out onto the dance floor. The bar was dark except for the string of recessed lighting left on for security reasons but the air still seemed to ring with the strident drumbeats and contrived conversation that had drowned out everything else only a short while ago. The smell of sweet alcohol and sweaty bodies lingered, settling over the surfaces of every object to stain the memory of this night and hint of the repeating musical pursuit and conquest that would play again tomorrow. The hollow sound of a metal stall door crashing against a wall in the bathroom gave evidence that not all the evening's rabble-rousers had moved on and the door squeaked as two forms stumbled from the ladies' room.

Soft grunts and swears filled the silence as a man dragged the limp form of his female companion onto the deserted club's main dance floor. "Oh," he gasped almost playfully as he carried her with one arm draped over his shoulders and his tight grip on her waist lifting her feet from the floor. "We never did get that last dance, did we?"

His date didn't answer as he suddenly twirled her in a circle.

"No?" he asked mockingly. "I suppose you are correct, it is getting late. Very well, back to work." He hitched her up to reestablish his hold on her waist and then resumed his walk across the room. The stairs were going to be a challenge and he took a deep breath as they climbed the first one. "I know you think this is terribly unfair," he said as they reached the first landing and he paused for breath. "But, of all the potential subjects here tonight you most closely matched the necessary physical specifications. It is important to approximate the subject as closely as possible."

He puffed his way up the next set of stairs and paused again. "It might help you to know that you are making the sacrifice in the name of science." Dragging her along the mezzanine her toes thudding against the floor he continued as if he were providing an academic lecture. "All theories, no matter how well conceived, must be tested through experimentation. Your small part in this will allow me to confirm that my plan will be successful." Having reached the next flight of stairs he resumed the climb, they were almost there. "So, my dear Fern…or was it Alice? Yes! Alice, let me be the first to congratulate you on your dedication to science."

Tired from the climb and the talk he opened the door in front of them and dumped her still unconscious form onto the floor. A soft moan escaped her in response to the fall and she began to stir. "Excellent timing," he said approvingly as he knelt next to her. "Wakey, wakey," he called as he gave her cheeks a slap.

The woman reacted and raised an arm to groggily brush away his rough treatment. When her eyes opened he released her. "Careful," he advised as he stood. "It will take a moment for the effects to completely dissipate."

"What?...Where?... What's happening?"

"Science, my dear, science! The wonderful world of science!"

She watched in a stupor as he secured a pair of long thick gloves over his hands and then picked up a set of sturdy thirty-centimeter forceps. His playful banter stopped as he focused on his task and his hands moved with slow smooth movements. Carefully he pulled the latch and opened the small access port in the terrarium next to his victim. Inspecting the cap he made certain it was safe and then tucked it into his pocket. "Are you ready?" he asked solicitously of the woman still trying to clear her fogged mind.

"What?"

Without explanation he used the forceps to grasp the enclosure and tip it onto his companion. Dark multi-legged bodies began to pour from the opening. She squealed in panic and then growled with distaste as she identified her assailants. "What the hell?" she yelled up at him and swatted away the disgusting insects.

"Oh, that's very helpful," he purred happily. "If they are angry that is best." He pulled the now empty container through the door and immediately restoppered it. The door had swung closed between them and he pulled it firmly shut trapping her inside.

She jumped to her feet in protest a sudden fear gripping her as her mind finally registered the danger of her situation. Her crawling companions continued to mill over and around her and she swatted and stomped in revulsion. That proved to be her undoing. Alarmed by the crushing blows of her feet and flailing arms they reacted. A chorus of trilling shrieks filled the air. Hundreds of tiny voices lifted in unison to sound a warning.

The noise was terrifying, the kind of sound that sent instinctual tremors of fear down the spine and her panic rose. Rattling the locked door she was trying to escape when it began. Her scream was loud and despite the anguish it conveyed it held not even a fraction of the pain she felt. The searing stab was intense and she slapped about her trying to rid herself of her attackers. The strident hiss grew louder and her eyes widened in fear. Her screams and her flailing became desperate and her legs kicked trying to shake free of the onslaught. The pain was excruciating as sting after sting was inflicted and her body reacted clumsily as the poison began to take effect.

He moved closer to see clearly through the glass as she collapsed again. "Excellent, the swelling and muscle spasms have already begun," he mumbled.

She was trying to crawl to the door, but her body wasn't able to respond. She managed a few clumsy paws in the right direction, but her arms were now completely unable to move at her command. Huge red welts covered her skin and as the movement angered them the tiny passengers inflicted more damage.

She would have cried out again as she convulsed on the floor but breathing was already becoming a laborious process. Massive twitching gripped her even as her limbs tightened into immobility and her eyes filled with tears as she heard the guttural sound of her throat filling with saliva she could not swallow.

He observed carefully making a few notes in his notebook while his eyes remained locked on the events on the floor. Patient, diligent and detailed observation was the lynchpin to every successful experiment. When it was finished he inventoried his belongings to make certain he had every retrievable object, it would be disastrous to ruin the project by leaving something behind. He regretted the loss of insects, but he had done all he could to insure they would not betray him and truthfully there was no expedient way to reclaim them without injury.

Taking one more look into the now silent sound booth he smiled, picked up his belongings and hers and walked away. He loved a good experiment; discovery always left him feeling the on top of the world. A nice brandy sounded good about now and he thought he might celebrate with a nightcap. Hell, he might even offer a toast to his research assistant.

18 Hours Later 

"All I'm asking is why couldn't I have met you here?" Brennan asked as her partner pulled to a stop. "I do own my own car, a rather nice car, and I find after my return from Maluku that things like driving my own car are quite enjoyable. It's surprising actually how many simple things I missed while I was away."

"We all missed things, Bones," he agreed as turned to face her. "But a year was a long time and we need to get back in the swing of things, right?"

"Right," she agreed with a shade of a smile. "Reestablish our routine."

"Exactly! Me picking you up, that's one of our things," Booth explained in a soft voice. He felt that smile growing, the one he was sure he only made for her, and that voice he knew he should listen to told him to be careful. "I thought it would be good. You know, like the old days. Come on, let's go do our other thing," he added more playfully hoping to cut the sudden tension.

He was exiting and she followed from her side. "Maybe next time I could pick you up," she suggested hopefully.

"Forget it, Bones," he answered immediately. "You driving is NOT one of our things."

"Things change, Booth."

"Not that."

"Why are they lined up?" Brennan asked as she noted the long line of hopefuls along the side of the building.

"It's a hot dance club, Bones. They don't just let anyone in, you have to wait your turn if you aren't 'on the list'," Booth explained using air quotes to emphasize his opinion of such things.

"What list?"

"You know, the list; the A-list, the beautiful people, celebrities, big names. All those high profile people they want to party here so they draw a bigger line of losers waiting to get in."

Brennan eyed the cue of people dressed for nightlife as he held the door for her. "We don't have to wait in line," she noted almost smugly.

Booth's eyes traveled over her as he followed her inside. "No, you'd never have to wait, Bones," he agreed. There was something in his tone that made her turn and he nearly blushed before he squashed the need. "What?" he demanded.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late!" Hodgins called as he scrambled through the door behind them.

"We just arrived," Brennan assured him.

"Ok, well let's get to it," her colleague replied as he shifted the bag he carried on his shoulder. "This is my first weekend home with Ange since we got back in the States and I really didn't plan to spend it poking a dead body."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Brennan said sincerely. "I'll apologize to Angela as well."

"No need, Dr. B," Hodgins assured her as they walked across the dance floor. "She understands. She wasn't even really mad about me canceling dinner at the best restaurant in town. She knows I'll make it up to her."

"Great, Ange is understanding," Booth said impatiently. "Can we focus on the case now?" A man dressed in a fashion far too young for his age was approaching and he stepped forward. "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, this here is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian and that's our associate, Dr. Jack Hodgins."

"Hey," the hipster wannabe greeted them. "I'm Deuce Jackson."

Hodgins snorted and Booth glared at him. "What happened, Mr. Jackson?" he asked trying to stay professional.

"Hell if I know. I wouldn't even know it was there except my DJ freaked the hell out when he opened the door."

"Where?" Brennan demanded.

Jackson pointed upstairs and both Brennan and Hodgins hustled to the steps. Booth followed pulling what information he could from the club owner as they climbed. He was making notes as his questions were answered and Hodgins' excited shout made his head jerk up in surprise. "What!"

"Come here my beauties!" Hodgins cooed as he squatted next to the body.

Booth rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I didn't miss that," he said to himself dismissing the entomologists' idiosyncrasies. "What do you think, Bones?" he asked his partner.

"Definitely murder," Hodgins piped up before she could answer.

"Can we get this cleaned up," Jackson asked impatiently. "It's Friday night, I'm losing money here."

"You might as well bounce them all home," Booth scoffed waving his hand in the general direction of the line out front. "This is a murder investigation. It's gonna take a while."

"It might take longer than that," Hodgins assured him from his crouch over the body.

"Why?"

"I'm going to have to make sure we get all these lovelies. We can't leave even one behind."

"Big ants," Booth noted absently. "Why?"

"These are bullet ants," Hodgins answered as if that should mean something.

It obviously meant something to Brennan and she jumped away from Hodgins as if fleeing for her life. "Bones!" Booth objected as she crashed into him and pushed him back several feet. "What are you doing?"

"Bullet ants," she answered as she bent and examined first her legs and then his. "Are you injured?" she asked running her hands over his calves in search of ants.

Booth squirmed under her touch and prudently stepped away. "Why are you two so concerned about big ants?" he demanded.

"Because," Hodgins said as he rose to his feet and held up a one inch long black ant. "These are your murderers."

* * *

><p>"I would never complain or offer criticism of what you ask of me, Dr. Brennan," Arastoo said politely, "But did I really have to give up my Friday night to watch Dr. Hodgins collect bugs?"<p>

"It is imperative that you be present for as much of the case work as possible, Mr. Vaziri," Brennan lectured. "Every detail is a potential clue and you must learn to catalog everything." She glanced at him and to his surprise offered an encouraging smile. "I share your eagerness to assess the victim, but under no circumstances will we rush Hodgins."

"Well, collect faster, Hodgins," Cam ordered speaking through the hand she held over her mouth and nose.

"Are you not feeling well, Dr. Saroyan?" Arastoo asked with concern.

"Just having some issues with pregnancy enhanced olfactory sense and corpses," she explained delicately.

"Cam, I sympathize," Brennan said with what sounded like actual sincerity, "But, he must be certain he has collected every insect."

"You got that right," Hodgins agreed as he maneuvered the long tongs he held. The body lay encased in a sealed container and his arms stuck through two access points in tough protective gloves that reached to his elbows. The movements he used as he worked were slow and steady. "Paraponera clavata," Hodgins recited with enthusiasm. "These are the nastiest of nasties, the most wicked kind of killer ant."

"Killer ants?" Cam called from where she stood several feet away from the others.

"Oh yeah," Hodgins said with a nod. "I'm sure Dr. B will want to confirm for herself, but there's not much doubt these guys are the murder weapon."

"Ants?" Arastoo asked.

"Bullet ants," Hodgins repeated. "The name means something you know; their sting is as painful as a gunshot. They are also called 'twenty-four hour ants' because that's how long you feel the sting." He held up the specimen he had extracted from the victim. "They are one inch long bad-asses."

"Indigenous people in Central America use them for their initiation rights to manhood," Brennan lectured as Hodgins' attention returned to his task. "The ants are anesthetized and their bodies are sewn onto the inside of a leaf-glove. After the ants wake up the young men then put their hands in the gloves and attempt to leave them encased for a minimum of ten minutes."

"Don't they get stung?" Cam asked her voice rising in response to the imagined pain.

"Severely," Brennan answered. "And, they must repeat the ceremony twenty times."

"Twenty?" Arastoo gasped.

"I just tried to prove I was a man by buying a car and trying to get laid," Hodgins joked.

"Judging from my initial, and admittedly remote, examination I would say death is no more than forty-eight hours old," Cam pressed trying to keep them on topic. If they had to be here, they might as well discuss the case.

"I'll know more once I have time to take a look at these guys, but I'm thinking even less than that," Hodgins supplied. He had looked up as he spoke and he took pity on his boss who was beginning to look decidedly green as she struggled against her heightened ability to smell the decaying body. "You know, I'm going to be at this awhile. Why don't you two go home," he suggested looking at Cam and Brennan. He grinned at the younger man standing next to Brennan and finished his thought with a bit of taunt in his voice. "Arastoo can stay and assist. There's no sense in all of us losing sleep."

Brennan began to shake her head stubbornly but then looked suspiciously at Cam. "If I stay will you remain as well?"

"I can't very well abandon ship when all the crew is on board," Cam joked.

"In your condition you should rest," Brennan declared.

Cam lifted an eyebrow and shared a look with Hodgins as both noted the uncharacteristic concern. "I appreciate your concern, Dr. Brennan, but women have been having babies for a very long time and I'm sure I can take a long and smelly night."

"It is a basic biological process," Brennan agreed. "But, it is not one you have experience with. Logic dictates that you should not strain your body unnecessarily." She turned without waiting for a response. "I'll need you to provide me with a ride to the Hoover," she announced. "Booth is questioning the bar owner and since he insisted on driving me I have no way to get home."

"Ok," Cam agreed knowing when the anthropologist took that tone there was no need to waste time arguing.

When the pathologist moved to follow both Brennan and Hodgins reacted with a start. "No!" they both shouted trusting their arms out in identical indications for her to halt.

"Go the other way," Hodgins insisted waving her to a different route off the platform.

"That would be best," Brennan agreed. "While they are quite large it is possible one ant could escape and remain undetected long enough to cause harm. In your present condition that would be extremely unfortunate." She paused as she turned to leave and looked at her intern. "Mr. Vaziri, please assist Dr. Hodgins in whatever manner he may require. If the remains are made available to you follow all protocol including x-rays and notify me immediately."

"Yes, Dr. Brennan," he answered distractedly as he twisted slowly his eyes scanning the floor for that one possibly escaped ant.

B&B

Booth dropped into the chair across from Deuce Jackson and looked the hipster in the eye. The way he did it, letting his eyes bore into the other man as if he could see straight through him, was designed to elicit a response. It didn't work and Booth was slightly impressed. "Who was in the club today?" he asked.

"No one until a few hours ago," Deuce answered. "I stocked up yesterday so I wasn't even there to do much until late."

"And you didn't know anything until the DJ found the body?"

"Nah," Deuce said.

Booth frowned at the frustration. This guy was a dead end it; was clear he was telling the truth. "So the body wasn't there when you left Thursday and when you come in Friday it's there?"

"Maybe."

"What do you mean maybe?"

"I mean on Thursdays I feature DJ Spinz and the guy is a pain. Won't use the booth, says he wants to be near 'his people'. I have'ta set up a whole sound board up on the mezzanine. It's a hassle, but the guy is good and he draws in the ladies so it's worth it."

"And he does that every Thursday?" Booth asked.

"For a while now, yeah; it's starting to be my best night of the week."

"So it would be common knowledge that booth is empty?"

"Guess so. Why?" he asked leaning forward. "You think it was one of my regulars?"

"I'm going to need your security tapes," Booth said ignoring the question.

"Sure, sure, anything you need. I hope it was a regular. You let me know, ok?"

"Why?"

"Murder in my club from the regular crew?" he asked with a smile. "Man, that would take me to a whole new level. I'll have them lined up around the block."

"Just get me the tapes," Booth ordered in disgust as he left the room.

His scowl turned to a smile as he exited and found his partner approaching. "Hey, Bones!"

"I need you to take me home," she answered.

Booth knew what she meant but for just a moment a goofy kind of smile lit his face. "I'm ready if you are, Bones," he said knowing she would not catch the hidden meaning.

"Did you get anything from the owner?"

"Nah, the guy's a real creep, but he doesn't know anything about it. He did say the booth was unused on Thursday," Booth said falling in step as they walked down the hall.

"That would provide opportunity and fit the initial findings," Brennan said giving a quick nod. "Cam and Hodgins estimate time of death between eighteen and forty-eight hours."

"That's a larger window than you usually provide."

They had reached the elevator and she shrugged as she pressed the button. "We can't begin a true examination of the remains until Hodgins has removed all the insects. He won't give the all clear for hours."

"What's taking so long? They are bugs, Bones."

"Do you remember what it felt like when I shot you?"

"What? Yeah, that's kind of hard to forget."

"That's approximately what it would feel like if he misses one and it stings you. We can't risk that especially with Cam performing the autopsy."

The doors to the elevator parted and they stepped inside. Booth let her go first, his reaction to the door slowed slightly by the way her true concern for Cam came through in her words. "You are protecting Cam; that's good Bones," he said softly.

The doors closed and he held the look they shared for another moment. It was good to be back, but something had changed. The year apart had shifted something between them and he still wasn't sure what it was. It didn't feel bad, the connection was still there, but it was different and maybe he should explore that a little. "So, partner," he said finally breaking the silence. "How about a late night snack? I am still trying to make up for all that pie I missed in the desert."

Brennan smiled. She had missed that. She had missed the way it felt to have him so casually offer to spend time with her. She wanted to say yes, she wanted to explain how their time apart had affected her. There were so many things she had learned and maybe soon she would be ready to share them with him, but now didn't seem the right time. She was just beginning to trust this new voice within her, this new sense of surety she had found in the tropics, and she heeded the caution it advised. "I'm really very tired, Booth. I'm still trying to adjust to being home; my body is still on Maluku time. Would it be ok if we skipped it?"

"Sure, sure," he agreed as they stepped out onto the garage level. "Maluku time, huh? So what, you are missing nights spent sitting around the campfire discussing ancient civilizations and their social structures?"

"That's not all we did," she objected grinning back the same playful smile he was giving her.

"What did you do then?" he asked sincerely curious to learn more about their time apart.

Brennan's smile faltered. "Nothing much," she said looking away. She was going to tell him, eventually, but mid-case was not the time. "Entertainment was limited. Can we hurry, Booth? I find I'm more fatigued than I thought and I will need to return to the lab early tomorrow to begin."

Booth dropped the subject, concerned about why she clearly didn't want to discuss the islands further, but unwilling to push when things still felt so new between them. There was more here. She had avoided Angela's questions about the islands the other day and now she didn't want to discuss it with him. Something had happened on those islands. A tiny fear was building inside his heart and he steeled himself against it. If she had moved on then he would be happy for her.

B&B

The excuse of fatigue was at least a partial truth and Brennan found herself refreshed and eager to tackle the case when she arrived at the lab the next morning. That feeling lasted until she got her first complete look at the body and preliminary findings. The delay for Hodgins scrutiny meant Cam was just now conducting the autopsy and Brennan pursed her lips in frustration when she realized she still only had x-rays to work with. Scanning the films she found a surprising lack of visual clues on the bone that only encouraged her bad mood. There were no broken bones, few indicators of occupational or repetitive stress, this was a body that had few secrets to tell. How was she to find answers when there were no clues? It was like the death had been delivered without violence. There were slight indications of damage to the carpals and phalanges of one hand. Those injuries were easily explained by the pounding their victim had likely done when she discovered she was locked in the room.

"Dr. Brennan, Dr. Saroyan would like to see you," Arastoo announced as he entered the exam room.

"Is she finally done?" the anthropologist snapped in return. The shock on her intern's face made Brennan aware of her tone and she sighed. "Thank you for the information, Mr. Vaziri. It was not my intent to alleviate my frustration at your expense."

"Can't find much on the x-rays, huh?" Arastoo asked in sympathy. "You always see more than I do of course, but I came up completely dry."

"Yes," Brennan agreed. "What did Cam want?"

"I think she has cause of death."

"That's something," Brennan said hurrying toward the autopsy room hoping at least one of them could provide some concrete evidence. "What do you have, Cam?" she demanded as she entered.

"One sec!" Cam called from the back of the room where a large sink was located. There was the unmistakable sound of retching as her words halted. It was as delicate as such things could be and as quiet as possible, but what was happening was abundantly clear. "Sorry," Cam said wiping her mouth with a damp cloth as she returned. Her hand rested shakily atop her slightly rounded middle and she smiled sheepishly. "I can't seem to get past the smell," she admitted.

"Quite understandable," Brennan offered. "Did you find something?"

"Yes," Cam answered for a moment sounding her old self. She stepped to the body as if her problem didn't exist.

"Hey, what do we have?" Booth called in interruption as he entered with Hodgins trailing behind.

"Tox screens and tissue samples are back. I'm going to take a closer look, but so far it's pretty clear," Cam reported. "It was quick and it was painful. She suffered spasms and convulsions; judging from the bruising they were pretty severe. That was followed by systematic paralysis as the toxin took effect. Her lungs and diaphragm were as affected as the rest of her and she slowly suffocated."

"Damn," Booth muttered. "And we are sure that's a result of the bugs?"

"Ants," Hodgins corrected. "And I told you so, one-inch badasses. She died by ant sting."

"Don't look so happy about it," Booth scolded.

Hodgins glanced and the body and looked suitably contrite. "Yeah, sorry."

Booth shook his head and turned to his partner. "What do you have, Bones?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"I can't find answers in x-rays alone, Booth. There are no occupational markers, no prior breaks, no trauma."

"So we've lost twelve hours waiting for the Squint Squad to do their thing. And now you tell me it's death by ant? I already had that, Bones. I've been waiting all this time to find what I already had?"

"Sometimes it is necessary," Brennan answered gently. "The wait is part of the process." She held his gaze for an extended moment and then pulled her eyes away. "How much more time do you require, Cam?" she asked.

"Not much longer," Cam answered as she bent over the body. "I'd be done already except I keep getting the willies thinking something is crawling on me."

"There is something crawling on you," Arastoo said, pointing to the hand Cam had braced against the table as she leaned down.

"Hodgins!" Cam screamed.

"Relax, relax," Hodgins said moving forward with his hands extended. He gently scooped the beetle from Cam's trembling arm. "It's harmless."

"What is it?" Arastoo asked, his caution relieved at the entomologist's assurance of safety.

"This is Chrysina aurigans, the golden beetle," he answered as he let the bug walk across his hand. He held it up for closer examination. "What are you doing here, my pretty?" he asked it.

"It crawled out of the victim's hair," Arastoo provided. "It happened fast," he said when Cam looked at him in horror.

"Why is it present?" Brennan asked clinically.

"Same habitat," Hodgins answered still giving the bug a look of adoration. "Maybe she hitched a ride with the bad boys."

"It's quite striking," Arastoo noted.

"It's twin, the silver beetle is even more so," Hodgins lectured. "It's believed that these little guys played some part in the Conquistador's tales of abundant gold and silver in the New World. From a distance they actually look like nuggets of precious metals."

"So it doesn't have anything to do with the murder?" Booth demanded.

Hodgins shrugged. "They aren't a danger to anyone."

"Do we have anything to go on?" Booth grumbled.

"If I give you something what do I get?" Angela called from the doorway.

"My undying gratitude," Booth said eagerly as he moved to her side.

Angela gave him a withering look. "Not exactly the best offer you could have made, Studly."

"Ange," Brennan scolded.

"I ran dentals," the artist said heeding Brennan's call for the information. "She might not have left many bone markers, but she went to see her dentist every six months." She dropped her playfulness and gave the body a look of regret. "Alice Fernley," she reported. "Thirty-three, worked as a bookkeeper for Windale Consultants. It's a firm specializing in event and conference planning, they do mostly government work. I put everything in the file," she finished handing the report to Brennan.

"Finally," Booth muttered. "Let's go, Bones."

* * *

><p>"Cameron Liven?" Booth asked.<p>

"Yeah," the man answered extending his hand in greeting. "You folks looking for a deal on a new sofa?"

Brennan looked around at the available options in the discount furniture warehouse and shook her head as her face revealed her opinion of its quality. "We are here to interrogate you."

"Ask some questions," Booth clarified when Cameron looked concerned. He introduced them both and then moved on immediately to the reason for their talk. "What is your relationship to Alice Fernley?"

Cameron snorted. "Whatever it was it's in the past," he stated firmly.

"So, you did have a relationship?" Brennan pressed.

"For a while," he admitted. "But, me and Alice, we just weren't going to work out. She's boring, you know? She's cute enough, but there's no life, no pizzazz. She'd rather sit at home on a Friday, you know? That's not my style."

"When was your last contact?" Booth asked.

"Maybe…three months ago?" Cameron answered with a shrug. "I don't know, why does it matter?"

"Alice is dead."

"Bones, are you ever going to learn to ease into that?" Booth complained in a whisper.

"What? He didn't even like her."

"I liked her," Cameron objected softly his voice revealing how stunned he was by the news. "Dead? She's dead?"

"She was killed late Thursday or early Friday," Brennan answered.

"Poor, Alice," he muttered.

"So you've had no contact and no reason to harbor any ill will?" Booth asked already knowing the answer.

"Me? No. I can't imagine anyone would. I mean, what would Alice do to make someone want to kill her? She didn't get out much, who would hurt her?"

"Can you give us any idea of her regular activity or social life?" Booth asked.

Cameron shook his head. "What social life? She was pretty vanilla, no spice. It was strictly work, home, sleep, back to work. That's why I left. It was go or die of boredom."

"Yeah, ok thanks," Booth said turning away.

"Hey, you might talk to her friends at work," Cameron called helpfully. "There's one gal…what's her name…Cynthia," he supplied. "I don't know her last name, but Alice talked about her a lot. They work together; worked," he corrected.

"Thanks," Booth said.

"It is unfortunate that she didn't have a better relationship with him," Brennan noted as they each closed their car doors.

"Really?" Booth scoffed. "He seemed like a tool to me."

"I don't know what that means," Brennan said, "But, I find it sad that Alice lived such a lonely existence."

"Maybe she liked it that way, Bones."

"Maybe," Brennan answered softly as she turned to watch the scenery roll by. "But, she made an effort," she said a moment later.

"Bones?" Booth asked caught slightly off guard by their return to the subject.

"With Cameron, she made an effort. He said she was boring, and plain, but she must have attempted to be more if they were in a relationship."

"Sometimes those things don't work out, Bones," Booth said his mind flashing to a smile he had left in the desert. "If it's not right, it's not right."

B&B

"Hey, Babe," Hodgins called as Angela passed his work station.

She responded to the anxiety in his voice despite her look that said she would rather not. She glanced at Arastoo who worked at the next station peering at something she would prefer not identify. "Hey, Arastoo." When he looked up long enough to give a nod of acknowledgement she turned impatiently to her husband. "What's up, Sweetie?"

"I just want to say again how much I regret our ruined evening," Jack said in a purr as he reached out and pulled her closer. She slipped between his knees and he ran his hands down her arms in a gentle caress. "I thought maybe tonight you'd like me to make it up to you. I can't get another reservation at the Blue Moon so quickly, but what about some fresh seafood at Dmitri's?"

Angela tried not to stiffen in his arms, but her reluctance came through anyway. "What?" Jack asked leaning back slightly to meet her eyes. "Angie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," she said giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "I just can't tonight. I have things I need to do."

"But I want to make up for last night," he pouted. "Our night got ruined."

"I don't mind, Jack. It's not a problem."

"But…"

"Sweetie, I'm really busy," she said giving him one more perfunctory kiss before stepping away. "Don't worry about it. I didn't miss you all that much, I promise."

Jack watched her walk away with worry in his eyes. "What do you think that meant?" he wondered aloud. Realizing he had spoken his thought he turned to Arastoo.

The intern looked up when he felt Hodgins' eyes on him but immediately returned to his work. "I really wouldn't know," he mumbled nervously.

The lack of sympathy only made his insecurity grow and Hodgins craned his neck trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening in Angela's office.

B&B

"Is there anything else you can think to tell us, Cynthia?" Booth asked of the sobbing woman seated across from them.

"No," she sniffed and shook her head as she spoke. "Alice was wonderful. Why would anyone hurt her?"

"Were there any workplace disagreements?"

"Alice and Sheila got into an argument once," she offered as she accessed a memory. "Alice thought Sheila should have let her assist with the decorations for our Halloween party. Sheila has fibro myalgia and Alice worried that she would overtax herself."

Booth had been momentarily elated to finally find some blemish in Alice but as he realized the 'argument' was only another sweet example of the victim's nature he sighed. "Ok, thanks."

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Brennan said sincerely. "Alice appears to have been a wonderful person."

"She was," Cynthia agreed with an emphatic nod.

"If you think of anything," Booth said gently as he handed her a card. "We're still hoping we might find a clue."

"Sure," the still weeping friend agreed. "There is something," she said hesitantly.

"Anything will help," Booth encouraged her. He wasn't going to admit they were stuck, but at this point he would take anything.

"It's nothing specific," she hedged, "It's just that she was happier lately. I don't know why exactly, she never would tell me, but I know it was because of something she was doing in the evenings."

"Ok, that might help," Booth said trying to give her some assurance.

Brennan held her question until they were back in the SUV. "How is an observation about her happiness a help?"

"It's the first blip in an otherwise flat line, Bones."

"An anomaly," Brennan said with understanding. "It is also nice to know that she was perhaps not as isolated as we first believed."

Booth's brow crinkled and he glanced away from the road to look at her. "Yeah, that's nice to know, Bones."

B&B

"Anything?" Cam called as she stepped into Angela's office.

"The woman was completely nondescript," Angela complained. "I've searched this footage three times and I can't find her anywhere." She looked away from the images streaming across the Angelatron's monitor. "If she was in the club you would think she danced, but I can't find her. She's not at the bar."

"How about the murder scene?" Cam asked hopefully.

Angela shook her head. "Nothing, apparently there's no security reason to have camera's pointed at the booth."

"Well, just keep at it," Cam said with a sigh.

"What's wrong?"

The pathologist waved a hand to dismiss her own state of mind. "I was just hoping you had something to go on. Now I have no choice but to get back to my tests and frankly the stench of the autopsy room is more than I can face."

"That will pass, right?"

"Eventually," Cam agreed. "But I gotta tell you, right now searching video footage is a lot more appealing than smelling rotting flesh." She gave a wide and exaggerated smile of enthusiasm. "It's all part of the wonder journey toward motherhood."

"More than you bargained for, huh?" Angela said sympathetically.

"It's a learning experience," Cam admitted.

"You are adjusting?" Angela asked. "I mean, it's a big change but you are dealing with it ok?"

"I'd like to think so. Why, does it look like I'm not?"

"No! I just…I was just wondering. I mean we go away for a year and when we come back life is nothing like it was. I just wondered if you were doing alright with that."

"I am, how about you?" Cam asked with the kind of intensity she had learned to wield as a cop.

"Me?" Angela asked. "I'm perfectly fine. How could I not be?" She held Cam's gaze for a fraction of a second and then turned to her monitor. "I'm going to try a secondary set of search parameters," she announced in a professional tone.

B&B

"Maybe we aren't back yet," Brennan said with dejection as Booth turned the key.

"What?" He stepped into the sparklingly clean apartment and turned to face her. "There's nothing wrong with us, Bones. This is just a hard case."

"It shouldn't be," Brennan objected. She wandered through the living room giving a professional eye to the room's appearance and finding only tidy order. "We knew the murder weapon at the crime scene. We have identification from dental records. We should be getting somewhere by now, but our investigation has turned up nothing more than what Hodgins and Angela already found."

"It's frustrating," he agreed. "But, we will find it, Bones. You and I are back; I can feel it." He waggled his finger between them. "Don't you feel it?"

"Feel what?" she asked hesitantly.

His smile was more enigmatic than any she had seen before and it seemed to tilt her world. "You and me, Bones; you and me."

"So if it's not us, then why don't we have a lead?" she asked feeling her frustration ease as he continued to shine his smile her way.

"If there's one thing I know, Scully, it's that the truth is out there. We'll find it."

Brennan's brow creased with a heavy line as she puzzled her way through his words. "The truth is always our objective," she agreed dismissing the terms she couldn't identify since the playful turn of his grin suggested he was joking.

"Sometimes those hidden truths take time to learn," he assured her. Booth turned his attention to their victim's home and began to wander looking for anything that might be a clue. "But I gotta believe the wait is worth it, Bones," he said as he opened a closet.

"So we should just keep trying?"

Booth closed the door and moved toward the bedroom. "Yeah; just keep trying."

* * *

><p>The search of Alice's home had turned up nothing significant. What few facts they had learned about their victim were underway as the partners reentered the lab. "I don't remember when we've had so little to go on," Brennan complained. "What good does knowing her favorite television programs do for us, Booth?"<p>

Her partner sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't know, Bones, but it might. Knowing that her DVR was full of every episode of Dancing with the Stars and Rachel Ray and that silly cop show with the sexy partners might mean something down the road."

"What?" Brennan scoffed. "That she, like most of America, lived vicariously through the television instead of enjoying those things herself?"

"Don't start knocking television," Booth objected. "I don't live vicariously."

"I didn't say you did," Brennan corrected. Her words were almost harsh and she clamped her lips closed. She wasn't trying to fight with him, it was just a convenient way to vent her frustration. "Mr. Vaziri should be ready for me," she said in a more gentle tone. "I'm going to get to work and find some answers."

"Ok, Bones," Booth agreed acknowledging her unspoken apology. "You go get your squint on." That brought a hint of a smile to her lips and he watched her walk away before he let out his own sigh of frustration. The only thing they had to go on was the murder weapon. If this were a shooting he'd know what to do. He could analyze the ballistics and find them some kind of lead. But this wasn't a weapon he could analyze. Turning on his heel he headed for the only person who could.

"Tell me you have something," he begged as he stepped into Hodgins' office.

"I have a splitting headache, does that count?" Jack asked without looking up from the test he was running.

"Not funny, Hodgins," Booth growled.

"Well, it wasn't supposed to be," the scientist shot back with uncharacteristic heat.

"They are bugs!" Booth snapped. "You are the bug guy! Give me something!"

"There's nothing to give," Hodgins said in frustration. He waved his arm over the encased ants as if he were accusing them. "There is no hint of where they come from; not in their digestive tracts, not in their exoskeleton, nothing. It's like their environment was controlled as to make them completely nondescript!"

"Nondescript is the word of the day," Booth growled, "The victim and now the murder weapon." His eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. "Well, that's not good enough. So, I'm going to get to work and you are going to find me something."

"I already looked!" Jack protested.

"We are not going to lose this guy just because he's a better bug guy than you," Booth shouted. "Find something!"

Hodgins watched the big Agent stomp from the room and head for the exit. The anger he was feeling was directed mostly at himself. Booth had every right to be upset. He called himself King of the Lab, loved to brag when he got it right, so it wasn't the g-man's fault that he expected results. Turning back to the ongoing test behind him he reclaimed his seat on his stool and got to work. There was no way he was going to let this one ruin his rep.

Booth returned to the Hoover and went through the motions of following procedure even though he knew it would reveal nothing. There was no suspicious activity in Alice's banking accounts. She appeared on no watch-lists or radical membership rolls. She didn't even have a parking ticket. Picking up his stress ball he gave it a couple of hard smashes and then hurled it against the wall. That bit of release made him feel better and he picked up his phone. The quick response to his text made him smile and he launched his computer's chat program.

"Hey, Bones, couldn't stand to be away from me, huh?" he joked lightly.

"What? No! I simply felt a face to face chat would be more conducive to communication."

"What, like you want to read my facial expressions? Bones, you don't do that."

"Maybe I'm working to improve that aspect of my interaction," she said defensively. This conversation was not going as she hoped and she certainly wasn't going to explain herself or her reasons. "Just never mind, Booth. Do you have something important? I was reviewing the remains."

"Aw, Bones, I was just teasing," he said hearing the hurt in her voice. "I think it's great you want to talk face to face."

"You do?"

She sounded so vulnerable with those two words that he had the irrational urge to touch his computer screen. "Yeah, I think it's good, Bones."

"I've been working on it since…well… it was something I decided to do while still in Maluku."

"What do you see on my face right now?" he prompted.

Brennan eyed him with suspicion and then with careful study her eyes narrowing slightly as she concentrated. "Amusement," she said. "You are laughing at me?"

"I would never do that and you know it," he objected. "I'm a little amused, but I think that what you see is mostly pride."

"You are proud of me?"

"Always."

"Thanks, Booth."

A knock at the door interrupted the smile they shared and Booth leaned back suddenly feeling as if all his frustration had vanished. "What is it, Sweets? We're kind of in the middle of something."

Sweets crossed to the desk and glanced at the computer. "Hi, Dr. Brennan," he greeted her. Brennan said hello as Sweets held out a file for Booth. "I did what I could, but there isn't much to go on."

"Yeah, we're all feeling that," Booth agreed as he opened the report. "Can you summarize it while Bones can hear?"

"Yeah, ok," Sweets agreed. "Our guy is intelligent, highly educated. Given the lack of evidence or environmental clues at the scene I'd say he's extremely clinical, and scientific; mucho careful and methodical. He would compare very closely to Dr. Brennan or Dr. Hodgins." He glanced guiltily at Brennan's face. "Except for, you know, he killed someone."

"His attention to detail is exemplary," Brennan agreed as if it were a compliment. "I find that despite my frustration with our inability to move forward that I appreciate his methods."

"What are you going to do, Bones, start a fan club?"

"I'm simply admiring the approach, Booth," she answered with a sniff. "I can distinguish my analysis of the method from my moral and ethical objections to the behavior."

"And I can't?" Booth demanded.

"Guys," Sweets called trying to head off an argument.

"Don't get offended, Booth," Brennan soothed. "I wasn't implying that you are incapable."

"Congratulations on reading my offended expression, Bones."

"Guys," Sweets called again but his voice was softer. He knew there was no stopping it and he turned away. "Let me know if you need anything else," he said over his shoulder knowing no one was listening.

"How am I not supposed to be offended at that, Bones?" Booth was demanding as Sweets pulled the door closed behind him.

B&B

Hodgins was been bent over his microscope for a very long time and when he straightened his back protested. Stretching in the opposite direction he tried to work the kinks out and a heavy yawn escaped. "You need some rest," Angela called from the doorway. "You were up all night and you haven't quit all day."

Jack lowered his arms and sat up straight. "I didn't see you there, Babe."

"Just got here," she admitted with a soft smile. Crossing the room she stood behind him and began to massage his shoulders. "Relax, you don't have to do this all on your own."

"Booth needs information," he said the tension in his voice a problem she couldn't caress away. "The ants are our only solid lead. I have to find something."

"You will, Jack," Angela said without a trace of doubt. "You always do."

The belief in her voice was like a balm to his aching psyche. The frustration he felt over the case and his growing fear that there was something wrong between them was a lethal combination that had him wound far too tight. Knowing that she had faith in him eased it tremendously. Feeling the loving touch she was applying to his aching muscles gave him hope. He leaned back and she ceased her massage so that she could wrap her arms around him. For one silent moment they stood sharing the warmth she had provided his heart.

"Ange," he said breaking the silence.

She heard his tone and knew he wasn't going to say anything related to bugs. "Just concentrate on the case, ok?" she said in a gentle refusal to discuss it. She kissed his temple and then stepped away moving toward the door before he could snag her. "My computer search should be finished. Maybe I found something with the new parameters. Good luck, Babe."

A large body filled the doorway as she neared and she smiled as she and Booth passed. "Hey, Booth."

"Hey, Ange," he answered. He turned his head to watch her leave. It was almost on the tip of his tongue to ask if everything was ok but when he saw Hodgins' face he let it go. "Anything?" he asked instead.

"Nothing more than the last time you asked," Hodgins admitted.

"Yeah, about last time," Booth said with a grimace. He hated apologizing, but he owed the bug man a big one. "I'm sorry I took out my frustration on you."

"Not your fault," Hodgins answered. "You are right, bugs are my specialty. I should be able to find something."

"It's never just on one of us," Booth objected. "If we can't find answers that's on all of us, Hodgins; we are a team."

"Yeah, ok," Hodgins agreed, but his tone suggested he didn't quite believe it. "Thanks, Man."

Booth nodded and the matter was closed. "So, Sweets thinks the guy is highly educated," he offered as a change in subject.

"Has to be," Hodgins agreed. "I can't believe an amateur entomologist would know enough to disguise them so well."

"Disguise them?"

"Yeah, they are completely average," Hodgins explained. "That means their total environment was rigidly controlled. The food, the water, the soil, even the nesting material, everything is controlled so that I have nothing to identify them with."

"He's smart," Booth admitted.

"Not smart enough," Hodgins vowed. "I'm going to find it, Booth."

"That's why they call you King of the Lab," Booth said playfully as he turned to go.

B&B

"Dr. Brennan, would you care for magnification?" Arastoo asked when she paused in her examination.

"No, thank you," Brennan said as she moved on. "It really is remarkable how little there is to indicate the life she lived," she said as she searched for a clue.

"Usually the bodies we examine contain a deeper history," the intern agreed.

Brennan nodded. "That is a good way to put it, Mr. Vaziri. Our history is deepest in our bones." She had moved to the end of the table as she circled the body and she paused. "Could I have that magnification?"

Arastoo moved quickly to comply with her request and then moved in hoping for his own look. He bent matching Brennan's position and tried to spot what she had seen. "Oh!" he gasped after a moment. "Is that what I think it is?"

"A very faint Jones fracture," Brennan stated assuming that was his answer.

"She had a dancer's fracture?"

"It isn't complete," Brennan explained. "It would have been mildly painful, but not enough to keep it from bearing her weight."

"So, she was a dancer?" Arastoo asked.

"Not according to the information we have learned from others," Brennan answered. "She…" her voice trailed off as inspiration struck.

Turning she headed for the door with haste and collided with her surprised partner. "Whoa! Bones! Slow down, the lab is a no speed zone."

"I think I found it," she said grabbing his hand and heading for the door.

* * *

><p>The mood in the SUV was much improved the glimmer of progress giving them both a new attitude.. "What's it say, Bones?" Booth asked looking to his partner as he pulled to a stop.<p>

Brennan was reviewing information he had ordered sent to his phone. "She began making weekly payments six weeks ago; twenty-five dollar installments to the 'Step By Step Ballroom'."

"Hm, what do you know," Booth murmured. "I guess that explains the DVR settings."

"Or maybe the DVR settings explain the payments," Brennan argued as she exited.

"Do you have to say the opposite every time, Bones?"

She narrowed her eyes and then smiled impishly. "Yes."

The studio was a simple storefront operation. The large open room was dominated by a polished dance floor and a line of chairs lined the edge of the wall for spectators. Stepping past the unoccupied counter at the door they moved purposefully toward a tall man wearing black gabardine pants and a tight fitting white shirt designed to hug and display his lean torso. "Can I help you?" he called in a thick accent.

Brennan's brow crinkled. "That accent is not authentic."

"No kidding," Booth agreed. "Knock it off, Twinkle Toes," he said as he produced his badge. "We have questions."

"Make it quick, huh? I've got a class in fifteen and the ladies prefer the charade of a sexy Latin instructor."

Brennan's face indicated she didn't think he qualified and Booth hid a smile. "You have a client named Alice Fernley?" he asked instead.

"Yeah," the dancer said after a moment's reflection. "She's in the Monday night Modern Dance but I'm trying to talk her into adding some Salsa sessions. Girl needs some sway in those hips."

"She won't be attending," Brennan assured him.

"Bones!" Booth tried to explain delicately. "We're investigating her murder."

"Who would murder Alice?"

"We haven't been able to ascertain that," Brennan admitted.

"She have any run-ins with anyone here?" Booth asked.

"Nah, of course not; the group loved her. She was sweet. We were all trying to encourage her in her effort."

"What effort?"

"The dancing, you know?" He looked up as two women entered and lowered his voice so they wouldn't hear. "She was trying to loosen up. That's why I was coaxing her into Salsa. She wanted to get out, meet people, do more. She even talked about hitting the clubs now that she could at least move to the beat."

The partners shared a look. Could it be that simple? Had poor sweet Alice simply been at the wrong place at the wrong time?

B&B

"I brought those tissue samples you wanted," Arastoo said setting the tray down in front of Hodgins. "Dr. Saroyan said she didn't need them back."

"Yeah, ok," Hodgins' answer was dejected.

Arastoo winced at the tone. "Is there anything I can do to assist?" he offered.

"Can you get my wife to stop avoiding me?" Jack grumbled. He looked up and sighed. "Sorry. I'm frustrated and I'm distracted by things with Angela and I just feel like I'm going over the same information and not learning a damn thing."

"She loves you very much," Arastoo said with conviction.

"Yeah, I know that," the entomologist said. He sat back taking a much needed break. He appreciated the unspoken offer the intern was making and maybe just having someone listen would help. "I just don't know what's wrong. She won't tell me. She pretends that everything is fine, but it's not. I can't fix it if I don't know what it is."

"Why do you have to fix it?"

"I'm the husband," Jack said as if Arastoo knew nothing. "That means it's automatically my fault. I just need to find a way to get her to tell me."

"A man who demands an emotional response rarely gets what he is looking for," the younger man lectured philosophically. "Angela is a wonderful woman, Dr. Hodgins."

"I know that!"

"She is very much in touch with her heart," he continued ignoring the interruption. "If she knows her own heart she doesn't need your assistance to understand it."

"Is that your way of telling me I'm being an ass?"

"I'm saying given what I know of you and Angela your relationship is more about symbiosis. She needs you to be supportive, not fix it."

"Symbiosis," Hodgins repeated. His eyes suddenly widened and he jumped from his stool.

"What?" Arastoo asked in alarm.

"Symbiosis!" Hodgins repeated with feeling. It took him only a few moments to find what he was looking for and then he moved quickly. Finally there was no doubt, no frustration, no distraction. There was only the clear and intense satisfaction of discovery. He barely waited to confirm his findings before he lifted his voice. "Ange!" he yelled. "Angie!"

His wife responded quickly. "Jack, why are you yelling all the way across the lab?"

"Here!" he said as he thrust a sheet of paper with a scribbled note into her hand. "I need you to track that. They had to come into the country in the last twenty-five days. Probably a licensed animal transport but check everything inbound from Guatemala to Columbia."

"Yeah, ok," Angela agreed when she realized his excitement was due to an actual lead.

"Oh!" Jack said with a chuckle as he placed his specimen under magnification and began the delicate work. "Come here my tiny friend."

Angela returned in a surprisingly short time. "I found it," she said her tone now matching his.

Jack took the information she had written below his note and placed a quick wet kiss on her lips. "Yeah, Baby!" he crowed. Grabbing his phone he hit speed dial.

"Brennan."

"Parasites!"

Brennan looked at Booth trying to determine if he understood the announcement better than she did. Her partner shook his head and she pressed for clarification. "On Alice's body?"

"No! On the ants!" Hodgins said in exasperation. "I was so focused on how he leveled out their environment that I didn't consider alternate indicators."

"And now you've discovered parasites," Brennan concluded.

"Right! Phorid flies lay their eggs on the ants. Given the development of these larvae they were laid no more than twenty-five days ago. Angie worked her magic and found a manifest on a shipment of animal products from Costa Rica that was delivered here in DC. The only product not delivered to the University of Virginia was a single package labeled 'harmful insect'. It contained bullet ants."

"Where, Hodgins!" Booth barked.

"Fifty-four, fifty-five Butler Road in Bethesda." The squall of tires and the start of a siren heard just before the call ended let Hodgins know they were on their way. He bent back over the tiny baby fly that had given him the breakthrough. A satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he examined it one more time. "You are good, Creeps McGee," he muttered aloud to the unknown criminal who had made his search miserable, "But I am King of the Lab."

His pride lasted until his phone rang again.

"Well?" he demanded when he saw it was Brennan calling.

"We need you."

"Another murder?"

"No, there is no body. Booth believes this is the correct location, but anyone who was living here is long gone. We were hoping you could find something. There is little evidence of the inhabitant or their activity, but if he was housing insects perhaps something of importance will catch your eye."

"Maybe it's not the right place," Hodgins argued hopefully. "I can recheck the manifest, maybe Ange can find a different shipment."

"Hodgins," Brennan interrupted her voice letting him know his theories were in vain. "We found Alice's personal belongings. He was here."

The bitter taste of defeat filled Hodgins mouth and his body sagged. "Yeah, ok; I'm on my way."

"Bring Mr. Vaziri as well," Brennan ordered. "Perhaps if he assists you will not need to spend another long night away from Angela."

"Yeah, I'll do that; thanks, Dr. B."

* * *

><p>The moon cast a silver light that was far too weak to brighten their spirits as Booth and Brennan walked silently toward the Founding Fathers. This was more than a setback, this was defeat. There had been nothing at the apartment over the Exterminator shop. Every surface had been cleaned to clinical specifications. There was not a stray hair or fingerprint to be found. The FBI techs who worked the scene had grown just as frustrated as the Jeffersonian team when they failed to find a single clue. Hodgins had remained vowing to search until he found something declaring there was 'no way Creeps was winning this'.<p>

"You ok, Bones?" Booth asked softly.

"I am not accustomed to our failure," she admitted.

"It happens once in a while," Booth said trying to remain philosophical. "But, I'm not giving up. Hodgins found something once. It will happen again."

"She only wanted to grow," Brennan lamented. "She had this secret she wanted to reveal and just when she began someone took it away."

Booth nodded solemnly. "Yeah, that's not fair, Bones. Those secrets we have, they weigh heavy if we wait too long to share them."

Brennan's head cocked to the side as she turned to look at him. The question she might have asked when she saw his dark eyes and read what she thought was apprehension was left unasked in favor of answering her phone. "Brennan."

"Sweetie, I need you."

"Ange, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Angela assured her. "I just…are you busy?"

"I'm about to have a drink with Booth, but it's not imperative." She gave her partner an apologetic look for the way that had come out but he shook his head to let her know he agreed. "Where are you, Angela?"

"I'm still at the lab."

"Still?" Brennan asked with surprise. Angela was almost never the last to go home. "Do you want to join us?" she offered.

"I was really hoping for some girl time, Sweetie."

"Oh."

Booth reached out and cupped his hand around her elbow. "Go, Bones. We don't really have anything to celebrate with this case and I think Angela could use that drink more than me." He didn't add that whatever was troubling the newlywed might be revealed in some girl talk, but he hoped it was true.

"You don't mind?"

Booth shook his head and gave the elbow he held a gentle squeeze. "We can do this later; when we have a successful arrest to celebrate." Brennan nodded her agreement and her thanks and turned. He stood watching her walk away and his disappointment reached a new level. When Brennan opened her car door and climbed inside he stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned toward his own vehicle.

B&B

Dr. Lauren Kellogg tripped lightly up her back steps with a smile on her face. Today had been a very successful day. Few things held the enjoyment of a productive experiment. She noted the impatiens were in need of water and she added that to her list of chores to be completed this evening. A nondescript brown paper package sat in her path and she scooped it up as she pulled the screen door open. "Sean!" she called as she stepped into the kitchen.

"In here, Mom!" a momentarily deep male voice answered from the living room.

Lauren turned the package over in her hands trying to determine where it came from. Her name and address were printed on the label but there was no return address or postmark. "Was the UPS man here?" she yelled to her son.

"No!"

"You sure? No one knocked?"

"No!"

"Sorry to interrupt the video game," she muttered to herself when she heard the irritation in the teen's voice. Setting the package down on the counter she retrieved her kitchen shears and slit the seal. The flap was held in place and she silently cursed the maker of tape that contained polypropylene ribbing. She slipped her fingers into the broken seal and tugged.

There was the sound of something breaking as she pulled and a black mass emerged from the box as if propelled. The bundle of tiny bodies slammed into her chest and she screamed in shock. Dancing in disgust she flailed about trying to rid herself of the revolting onslaught. The first sting elicited a different kind of scream but after several more were delivered almost simultaneously she was rendered mute. By the time she hit the floor it was too late.

* * *

><p><em><strong>When a disarticulated body washes up on the banks of the Potomac, the investigation leads Booth and Brennan into a world of unrequited love, sex and foodies. Join us next week for Episode 6.5x03: The Love on the Rocks, written by brainysmrfs.<strong>_


	3. The Love on the Rocks

Episode 6.5x03: The Love on the Rocks ~ written by Brainysmrfs and Stayuff

Arthur Denton stood on the banks of the Potomac and sighed in frustration as he saw a raindrop fall on the page of his notebook. He adjusted his hat and looked up at the grey skies. He hoped that the rain could just hold off until after sunset, so that he could complete his work for the day. He'd spent the last three days on the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Island studying the mating patterns of the Southern Flying Squirrel for his upcoming book.

Another drop fell on his notebook and Arthur's jaw clenched. "Great. Yeah, go ahead and rain. It's not like I'm out here trying to work or anything!" He mumbled under his breath.

After taking one last look around the area, he reached down to grab his gear and saw something at the water's edge that resembled an oddly shaped piece of driftwood. As he moved a little closer to examine it, he realized that it was definitely not a piece of wood - the loosely attached eyeball moving slightly with the gentle waves gave that away.

B&B

"The mosaic on the backsplash is very beautiful." Brennan commented to Padme as she helped her load the dishwasher after dinner.

"Oh, you like that? I did it that over spring break." Padme stood up and closed the dishwasher, turning it on. "This place was such a mess when we first looked at it but I saw its potential. I mean, yeah we've had more than one electrical issue and Jared had to become a master plumber overnight but," she shrugged and smiled, "I knew this was our home as soon as I saw it."

Brennan returned her smile, "You've done a beautiful job with it."

"Thanks. You know, Jared wanted to buy a brand new house, one that no one else had ever lived in but… I think that it's more satisfying to find a place like this that's unique and challenges you to bring out its true potential."

Brennan nodded, "I can appreciate that." She looked around the newly-remodeled kitchen and then back to her host, "And I'm sure that financially you were in a better position to buy something like this rather than a newly-built home." When Brennan saw the curious look on Padme's face she started to back-pedal, "What I meant is that it was a very smart decision – to buy a home that was within your means."

Padme nodded slowly, "Yes…This place was more budget friendly as well." She folded her arms in front of her,"But really, this place is perfect for us – regardless of the cost." She cleared her throat and continued with a change of topic, "It's nice to see the boys together, isn't it? I know they have their differences but it's important that they remain a part of each other's lives. Seeley was the one thing missing for Jared at our wedding but that couldn't have been helped."

Brennan reached for her wine glass on the counter, after taking a sip she asked, "What prompted the decision to elope?"

Padme grinned and ran her hand across her mouth, "I don't know…One Friday night we were sitting in our old apartment, eating take out and Jared looked over at me and said 'Let's go to Vegas this weekend'. I had the following Monday off and I couldn't think of a single reason not to go and then once we got there…I don't know, it just…it just felt right and the rest is history."

"I'm very happy for you – for both of you."

"Thank you, Temperance." Padme grabbed her glass, "Let's go see what those Booth boys are doing out in the living room."

Brennan followed Padme into the living room where Booth and Jared were catching the last inning of the Phillies game on TV. Padme took a seat on the arm of the recliner Jared was in and Brennan sat down on the love seat next to Booth.

"So, Seeley," Padme turned to face him, "What have you been up to since you got home?"

"Uh," Booth sighed, letting his lips flap with the exhaled air, "Well, you know Bones and I have been pretty busy with work and I've been spending a lot of time with Parker – trying to make up for lost time."

"That's all?" She asked.

"Seeley is a workaholic." Jared piped in. He grinned and craned his neck around to look at Booth and Brennan, "He'd rather be at work than anywhere else."

Booth rolled his eyes, "Not true but my work does take up a lot of my time."

Brennan spoke up in defense of her partner. "Booth is an exceptional agent and because of that, the cases he is assigned are the more challenging ones that the FBI has and those cases are often time consuming."

He looked over at her, "Thanks, Bones."

She smiled, "Of course."

They continued to look at each other until Padme jumped up from her perch on the chair and said, "You know what, Seeley? We have a new teacher at school, Ginger Semans, she's from California and just moved to DC. She's pretty, smart and doesn't know a soul here…She could probably use a night out with a guy like you…" She moved into the center of the room and fixed her eyes on Booth, "Whattya think?"

Booth leaned back in his seat and groaned quietly. "Uh, I don't know…Blind dates are not really my thing." He pleaded with his eyes not to glance over at Brennan but they betrayed him. The glance he got was of her, sitting quietly, stoically waiting to see how the conversation played out.

"Ah, come on Seeley. It'll be fun. You know? Go out, have a nice meal, pleasant conversation with a beautiful woman…Please let me do this for you?" Padme begged with her words and her eyes.

As Booth prepared to shoot his sister-in-law down his phone rang. He stood and reached into his pocket to answer it and he nodded in Padme's general direction, politely excusing himself from the conversation. The absurdity of her suggestion left him befuddled and preoccupied. He muttered "Yeah…," as he moved past her.

Padme didn't take notice that the man was obviously distracted and took his mumble as an agreement. She grinned and clapped her hands together, "Perfect!"

Brennan took a big gulp of her wine and wondered if Booth realized he had just agreed to a date. And that led her to wonder if he did realize what he had done, what did it mean for her, for them? In the time that they had been home, Brennan was certain that she had felt a shift in their relationship and even one within herself, but if Booth was going on a date, maybe her feelings were incorrect.

Suddenly, Booth hustled back into the room while pulling his sports jacket on, "Bones! We gotta go."

"A case?" she asked, thankful for the distraction from her current internal musings.

"Yup, and your favorite kind – it's missing a bunch of parts."

B&B

"There appear to be stab wounds to both the nasal bone and the superior orbital fissure…And there are other markings on the bones that appear to be from the rocks here on the bank…." Brennan looked up at Booth through the torrential downpour; he had given up on trying to take notes and was unsuccessfully shielding his head from the rain.

"How much longer do we need to be out here?"

"So far, I've only located the skull and a femur." She looked out over the river, "I'm afraid that with the weather conditions I won't be able to locate more." She returned her gaze to her partner, "I told you that the weather was going to be severe, you should have dressed for it."

Booth looked down at his soaked jeans and equally soaked shoes and nodded, "Yeah, I just didn't expect to be standing on the banks of the Potomac for two hours while my obsessed forensic anthropologist took her sweet ol' time examining the bones."

Brennan rocked back on her heels and shook her head, "I'm not taking 'my sweet ol' time', I'm properly collecting evidence. _Your _forensic anthropologist believes in being thorough – or did you forget that?"

"No, I didn't forget. I just thought that since it's raining so hard that I can barely see a foot in front of me that you'd hurry this part up a little bit."

She sighed, "Actually, there's not much more we can do here tonight. We'll have to have the team come back in the morning and collect what they can."

"So, we can take him _or _her back to the lab now?" Booth asked hopefully.

She stood from the crouched position she had been in and rested her hands on her lower back, "Him…And yes, we can take him to the lab now." Brennan motioned to the FBI crime scene techs to gather up all the evidence. She noticed Booth shivering against the elements and pursed her lips, "It's pretty bad out here are you sure you don't want my hat."

He glared at her ridiculous yellow-fisherman's rain hat and shook his head, "No thanks, I'm all set. I'd rather catch a cold than look like the Gorton's Fisherman."

"Actually," She began as they started walking back to the SUV, "it's a common misconception among people that being out in the rain causes you to become ill. Being out in the cold, wet weather actually won't cause you to become sick. Bacteria and germs cause the human body to-"

Booth cut her off, "Don't really care right now, Bones. I'm cold and wet, let's go."

* * *

><p>"Have you finished with the skull or the femur yet, Cam?" Brennan asked as she climbed the steps of the platform.<p>

"Just finished…" Cam took off her gloves and placed a hand on her aching back. "I didn't get much from the remains. The fish and other critters have eaten most of my evidence. I can tell you that poor guy was dead before he lost his head and there is some non-fatal, but definitely painful damage to the eye."

Brennan moved around the table to get a closer look, "Three identical and evenly spaced puncture wounds in the superior orbital fissure that extend down to the optic canal." She looked up at Cam and Angela, "What could cause that?"

"I absolutely hate that my mind went right to this, but I think this guy was stabbed in the eye with a fork," Angela said with a grimace as she picked up her camera to take pictures of the wounds

"Great, now I'm going to have to eat all of my food with my hands or with chopsticks," Cam's face paled slightly.

Ignoring the other women's comments, Brennan looked over the femur, "It seems that the only damage done to the femur was superficial and caused by the rocks on the bank the remains washed up on."

"That's what I said in my report." Cam agreed.

"I'm going to remove the remaining flesh on both the skull and femur and then Angela, you can start on the facial reconstruction."

Angela nodded, "OK, in the mean time I'll upload these pictures," she held the camera up, "and see if I can figure out if it was a fork or not."

Brennan nodded, "Thank you, Angela."

"Hey what do you guys think of James as a girl's name?" Cam asked the two women.

"I think that she better be gorgeous or she's gonna have a hard time." Angela replied.

Cam gestured toward the artist, "Thank you! That's what I told Paul. We're having a difficult time agreeing on a name."

"You're having a girl?" Angela asked with a smile and wide eyes.

"Don't know." She rested her hand on the stomach, "We decided we didn't want to know but I think that we should have a name picked for both sexes before I push this sucker out."

Brennan hung back from the conversation, having nothing to add and feeling a little…a little something that confused her. She was roused from her confusion by Hodgins running toward the platform.

"Dryobius sexnotatus!" Hodgins exclaimed excitedly as he ran up the steps.

"That sounds like some sort of Latin sexual proposition Dr. Hodgins," Cam said with a smirk.

"Six-banded Longhorn Beetle." He held up a specimen jar. "Fairly rare in this area, but not unheard of so his mere presence doesn't tell us anything. I'll see if I can't find out where this little guy's been, though."

As Hodgins prattled on about the beetle, the doors of the lab opened.

"Welcome to the Squint Central, Turner," Booth said with a grin as he led the agent inside. Since Agent Turner had completed Quantico, she was assigned to the DC office but for the last few weeks she had been stuck at the Hoover filling out HR forms and learning all of the office policies. Now she was shadowing Booth for the week to see how investigative work is accomplished in a real world setting.

"It's very... shiny," Turner said softly.

Booth leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "Don't stand in one place too long. You might get plated in chrome or washed down with some industrial strength chemical."

Turner paused for the brief moment it took her to realize he was joking, "How often are you here during the course of a regular case?"

"Well…" He glanced over to the platform and saw Brennan talking with Cam and Hodgins. "It depends on the type of case and how much information I'm getting from them. You know, sometimes I've gotta come over here and light a fire under 'em."

Turner chuckled, "So, can I get the nickel tour first or do you need to go 'light a fire under 'em'?"

Booth noticed that nobody on the platform had seen them come in and grinned. "Oh, you should definitely take the tour first."

He pointed at the nearest room. "That's the autopsy room. Don't go in there with a full stomach unless you're prepared to ralph like a freshman at their first kegger and whatever you do, don't touch anything in here because that unidentifiable glob of nasty you find on your suit just might be someone's brains."

Turner chuckled. "Speaking from experience, Agent Booth?"

Booth frowned slightly. "Um... no..." He took a breath and tried to regain some of his steam.

"Over there." He pointed at another room and grinned. "That's Hodgins' office, home to a host of creepy-crawlies and the setting for countless 'Jackass'-worthy experiments. If you smell smoke, it's probably coming from there." He leaned over to Turner, "Word to the wise, don't agree to help him with an experiment and don't touch anything in his office. If it's not deadly, it's expensive, and sometimes it's both. Also, don't accept anything to eat or drink from Hodgins that you didn't watch him prepare."

He walked her around to the other side of the platform. "That's Bones' office. Comfy couch and scary artifacts. Any bones you find in her office are probably real."

"Next, there's Angela's office. That big glass wall isn't just a big glass wall; it's a giant computer that Angela uses to do facial reconstructions, crime simulations, and a bunch of other things I don't really understand."

They took a few more steps and then Booth swiped his card and led Turner up the steps of the platform, "What do you have for me, Bones?"

Brennan sighed, "Not much but as soon as I clean the skull, Angela will do the facial reconstruction and hopefully we'll be able to ID him from that."

"Sounds good," he looked around the group, "You all remember Agent Turner, right?"

The group nodded and offered words as welcome while Booth approached Brennan, "Bones, we need to go question the guy who found the body. Are you ready?"

"Booth, I can't go. I haven't even cleaned the bones, yet. We're working without an intern this week so I can't just leave the lab without finishing the examination."

"Why no intern?"

"It was supposed to be Mr. Fischer but he admitted himself to a mental institution for depression so I'm without now."

"Not Fischer?" Booth asked in a sarcastic tone that went over Brennan's head.

"Yes, Colin Fischer. You must have not interacted with him much thus far, he was quite bleak."

"I know, Bones." Booth leaned over and bumped his arm against hers gently, "I was joking."

She smiled shyly, "Oh."

"Anyway." He stood up straight, "You do your bone thing. Turner and I will go talk to the witness."

B&B "Mr. Denton, what were you doing on the island yesterday?" Booth asked as he and Turner sat down with Denton in a Hoover conference room.

The older, slightly balding man pushed up his glasses, "Well, I've been going out there for the last month collecting research for my book."

"Your book?"

"Yes, I'm writing a book about the mating habits of the Southern Flying Squirrel – it's quite fascinating actually when the male-"

Booth raised his hand, cutting the other man off, "Yeah, I'm sure that flying rats getting it on is great but," he glanced over at Turner who was stifling a giggle and then back to Denton, "have you seen anyone else out there recently? Suspicious looking…Carrying a large object?"

Arthur shook his head, "No, th-the only people I've seen out there are park rangers and a few bird watchers. Sorry."

"And you didn't see anything else in the water? By the time we got there the rain was so heavy we couldn't do a proper canvas of the area and right now all we have is the head and a leg bone."

The mention of the remains made Arthur's stomach churn, "Oh no, I was too sickened by seeing that eyeball. I took off for the nearest ranger's stand immediately." He could see that his answers were frustrating the agent in front of him, he shrugged and said, "I'm really sorry I don't have any information that is useful to you, Agent Booth."

Booth closed his notebook and slipped it into his pocket, "It's ok. I appreciate your time, Mr. Denton. If you could just stay in the area in case I have any more questions."

The older man stood to leave, "Certainly. I'll be in town for the next six weeks doing my research."

After Denton left, Turner looked over at Booth, "So, where do you go from here?"

"Well, hopefully Angela will get a hit with her reconstruction and then we can start looking into the victim's life." Booth stood to leave and motioned for Turner to do the same.

She hustled to keep up with his long strides back to his office until his ringing phone caused him to stop short. She listened carefully to what he said but it was his facial expressions that told her he was being given some very interesting information.

He snapped his phone shut, "OK, Turner we're headed back to the lab?"

"Why?"

"Some more remains washed up and we've gotta pick up Bones."

Turner followed Booth to the elevator and while they waited she asked, "I thought that the FBI forensic techs handled the remains. Why not let them just take what they find to the Jeffersonian?"

Booth laughed to himself, "Because…Because Bones is the best at what she does and she doesn't take too kindly to other people messing with her remains."

"And the bureau is alright with that?" She asked as they boarded the elevator.

"If they weren't, she wouldn't work with us. And trust me, on cases like this? You _want_ Bones, you want all the squints so, we make exceptions for them."

Turner nodded with a knowing smile, "Yeah, Lance said you guys were 'special'"

Not wanting to delve into what Sweets meant by 'special', Booth just nodded and watched the doors close.

B&B

"Did the park rangers say what exactly they found?" Brennan asked Booth after he and Turner picked her up from the lab.

"Uh, not really." Booth glanced over at her before looking back at the road in front of him, "They just told the switchboard that more remains were located about a quarter mile from where we found the other remains."

"It would be extremely helpful if it was the rest of the body." She turned and looked back at Claudia, trying to make her feel like she was part of the conversation, it was a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Booth, "It will be difficult to determine cause of death with what we currently have."

Turner nodded in understanding.

Before she could expand on her comment, Brennan's phone rang, "It's Angela, I'll put her on speaker." She hit a button and held the phone in between her and Booth.

"Hi Angela, you're on speaker with myself, Booth and Claudia."

"I've got an ID on our victim – his name is Tom Baker, he's 46, lives in Georgetown and he owns a local heating and air conditioning repair company."

"Thanks, Ang." Booth leaned down toward the phone when he spoke.

"Yes, Angela, thank you. Good job. Can you send the info to my phone?" Brennan asked.

"I already did."

Brennan turned off the speaker and said good-bye to Angela and Booth noticed the way her frame relaxed ever so slightly. "Feel better, Bones? We know who he is now, that's good."

She nodded, "Now we just need to find the rest of him."

Turner leaned forward, "In the past haven't you been able to find cause of death without a complete body?"

"Yes but in instances like this, where the body was cut up post mortem and the remains that were initially found don't indicate cause of death, it makes it nearly impossible to solve the case."

"So," Turner rubbed her palms together, "we're looking for a whole body, right?"

"Yes or rather to be exact, we're looking for a torso, two arms and a leg."

Booth looked in the rearview mirror at Turner with a smile, "That's one thing with Bones, Turner – she _loves_ to be exact."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to be accurate." A defensive Brennan said as she turned to face front.

"I never said it was wrong." Booth's voice changed pitch as he tried to quell an argument before it even really began, "I was just letting Turner know that you like things to be exact, that's all Bones."

Brennan folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her seat, "It sounded like you were making fun of me."

"Well, I wasn't."

"It sounded like you were."

Booth whipped his sunglasses off and looked straight at her, "I wasn't making fun of you. I wouldn't do that to you. We're partners, remember?" He offered her a warm smile that spoke the truth, the truth that she valued so much.

The truthful smile and the mention of partners did her in, "I remember and I accept that you were not making fun of me."

"Thank you." He slid his glasses back on as they pulled in the parking lot of the island.

Turned sat motionless, unsure of what she just witnessed and of what to do until Booth got out of the driver seat and opened her door unexpectedly.

"Come on, Turner. It's time you've been to your first crime scene."

She smiled as she climbed out of the vehicle and pulled her long blonde hair into a ponytail. "Yeah, and from the sound of it, it's gonna be a really gross one."

Booth laughed as they started walking a few steps behind Brennan, "That is our specialty."

* * *

><p>"Dismembered post mortem…" Cam sighed as a wave of nausea hit her. She looked up from the newly recovered remains and took a few deep breaths before continuing, "The lack of hemorrhagic tissue around C1 and C2 of the spinal cord proves that the head was severed post mortem like we originally thought. But the leg that was found with the skull appears to have been disarticulated from the body after it had already been in the water for some time."<p>

"At least that's a slightly less disgusting thought," Angela remarked as she stood off to the side. The curious look she received from Cam forced her to elaborate on her theory, "I mean, at least it was just his head, at least they didn't chop all of him up, you know?

Ignoring Angela's outburst, Brennan looked to Cam, "I concur, there's no staining on the cervical vertebrae to indicate that blood flow was present at the time that the head was severed." She leaned closer to the neck and moved a bit of the flesh away from the bones in the neck. "I do see kerf marks, but I won't be able to determine what caused them or if they match the marks on the skull until the bones are cleaned." She looked up at Cam, "Was the DNA a match?"

"Yes, Dr. Brennan."

"Good, I'll let Booth know." Brennan snapped her gloves off and reached into her lab coat for her phone.

Cam held up her hand, "Also, I was able to account for all the vital organs except the heart."

"The heart is missing?" Brennan asked, slipping her phone back in her pocket.

"Yep, it looks it was cut out but since the tissue is so degraded you'll have a better chance at determining how once you clean the bones."

Brennan nodded and once again reached for the phone to call Booth and relay the new findings to him.

"Well, little Jasmine... It's a good thing that you can't see what I see right now or you'd wind up with some serious nightmares," Cam said as she looked down at her rounded belly.

Brennan was in mid-dial when she looked over at Cam, "Jasmine?"

Cam smiled. "Just trying out another baby name. What do you think?"

Brennan returned the smile. "Jasmine is one of my favorite fragrances, very exotic. The flowers are night blooming, you know."

"It's also the name of a Disney princess," Angela replied as she moved to one of the computers in the room and pulled up a picture, replacing the magnified images of the torso.

"Her proportions are completely unrealistic. Her waist is far too small," Brennan remarked with disdain. "This is from a children's movie?"

Hodgins chuckled as he strolled into the autopsy room, "Yep, that was a good one. The girl I was dating at the time made me take her to see it. I ended up liking it because Jasmine was hot and the Genie was funny. Plus, Marianne was _really_ pleased that I was secure enough in my manhood to be seen at the theater for that one."

Angela rolled her eyes. "I bet she was."

"Well, that's another one off the list. I liked that one, though. I was going to call her Jazz," Cam said sadly.

"Aw, Cam. That's cute. I like it. Maybe you should put it back on the list." Angela suggested.

"Nope, it's as ruined for me now as this guy here on the table." Cam stepped back and pulled off her gloves. "Dr. Brennan, the flesh and internal organs are too badly damaged from scavenging animals and insects for me to determine cause of death. If Hodgins is through gathering insects and particulates, then I'm ready to turn the remains over to you."

"I've got everything I need," Hodgins replied.

"Then, I'll leave our victim in your capable hands, Dr. Brennan." She pulled her gloves off and held her hand over her mouth, "I have to get out of this room."

B&B

"I really don't want to, that's why," Booth explained to Padme over the phone while sitting in his office a little later that day. "My personal life is fine. The only people who think it isn't are the people who aren't a part of it." He pulled the phone away from his ear as his sister-in-law began to speak again, he didn't need or want to hear what she had to say.

Bringing the phone back to his ear, he sighed, "Why is this so important to you?" He listened as she spouted off about how people shouldn't be lonely and how he and Ginger both were so she wanted to change that which was quite eye-roll inducing for Booth. Then she got to the one reason why he should take this woman out for a 'friendly' dinner that he couldn't argue with: 'because we're family and I'm asking you to'. He groaned, "Fine, I'll do it. Just one and I do mean _one_ dinner with her, ok?"

As he hung up with a tickled to death Padme, Sweets knocked on his door, "I heard there was a case but I haven't received a file yet."

"Yeah, we don't have much yet. The victim's ID is all we've got so far. Bones and I are going to head over and talk to the wife shortly."

Sweets nodded, "Ok, give me a buzz when you need me."

Booth waited until Sweets was almost out of his office before stopping him, "Hey Sweets, can I uh, ask you a question."

"Sure."

Having the other man's full attention suddenly killed any chance that Booth was going to ask him about his current, blind date predicament. Instead he asked, "How are things with you and Turner?"

"We're good. Yeah, really good." Sweets tried to not let his enthusiasm for his girlfriend show too much in front of the agent. "Why?"

"No reason, I was just…Now, don't take this the wrong way but," Booth sat back in his seat, "you gotta know that she is-"

"Way out of my league?" Sweets asked as he sat down across from Booth, "Yeah, I know. Trust me, I know."

"How did you swing it?"

"Well, the first time I saw her…You know, talked to her? I just…you know?"

Booth nodded slowly, "Yeah, I do."

Sweets smiled, "She didn't say yes the first time I asked or the tenth but finally the eleventh time _that_ was the charm."

"Wait a minute," Booth leaned on his desk, resting his weight on his forearms, "Do you mean to tell me that you asked Turner out eleven times in a row?"

"Not in a row _exactly,_ not like every day. I asked her every Thursday." Sweets shrugged, "I just didn't give up and now, we've been together for almost seven months and I've never been happier."

"That's stalker behavior, you do realize that, right?" Booth asked.

Sweets stood to leave, "When it comes down to it, the difference between a man courting a woman and one stalking a woman is only a few degrees."

B&B

"Why didn't Claudia come with us?" Brennan asked as she and Booth approached Tom Baker's Georgetown brownstone.

"_Agent Turner_ didn't come with us because it's hard enough to find out that your husband is dead, you don't need a rookie observing that moment," Booth explained before he knocked on the door.

"Your point makes sense."

Booth turned with a smile, "I do that every once in awhile."

The door opened and a dark haired woman asked, "Can I help you?"

"Yes," Booth reached for his badge and showed it to the woman, "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth and this is my associate Dr. Temperance Brennan. Are you Leigh Baker?"

"Yes." She looked at Booth and then Brennan, "The FBI? Is this about Tom?"

"Yes, ma'am. May we come in?"

Leigh pushed the door open a little wider and gestured for them to follow her to the living room. Booth and Brennan exchanged a curious look and then followed her.

Once they were seated, Booth inched forward in his seat, "Mrs. Baker, I'm very sad to tell you that your husband has passed away. His remains were found on the banks of the Potomac yesterday morning and we believe he was murdered. I'm very sorry for your loss."

Leigh scoffed, "Some loss…"

"You're not concerned that your husband is dead?" Brennan asked because she knew Booth wouldn't.

"My only concern is that now I have to arrange a funeral for the man."

The partners looked at each other and then Booth asked, "You and Tom were having problems?"

Leigh shook her head, "Tom and I got married when we were 19 years old. After 25 years, 'having problems' don't even begin to describe what was going on with the two of us."

"When was the last time you saw your husband?"

Without missing a beat, she replied, "April 23rd. The jerk hung around long enough to get his birthday presents and then split. Or so I thought he did."

Brennan spoke up, "Why didn't you report him missing?"

"I thought he ran off with one of his chickadees. About six years ago, I found out he'd been stepping out on me for most our marriage and not even just one woman at a time. " Leigh reached for her cigarettes on the coffee table and lit one before continuing, "oh, no not my Tommy, at any given time, he probably had two or three girls he was cattin' around with."

"And that didn't bother you?" Brennan asked suspiciously.

"Of course it bothered me but leaving him wasn't an option for me. Tommy took good care of me, financially speaking."

"Your husband owned a heating and air conditioning business?" Booth asked.

"Yes, a very successful one; he and his partner Ken Hutchins started it almost 16 years ago. They're contracted with most of the restaurants in Georgetown." She gestured to Booth with her cigarette, "You should talk to Ken."

"And why is that?" He leaned forward.

"He would know what Tom was up to and who he was screwing around with. They were the best of friends, they shared _everything. _And I do mean everything if you catch my drift."

Brennan nodded, "You're implying that they both had sex with the same women."

"Yeah, she was Bones." Internally Booth smiled and rolled his eyes at his partner's direct approach, an approach he either loved or hated depending on the day of the week. Today was a love day. Externally, Booth closed his notebook and stood, "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Baker." He reached into his pocket, "Here's my card in case you think of anything that might be helpful to our investigation."

"I doubt that will happen but I'll hold onto it. You two can see yourselves out, can't you?"

"Do you think she killed her husband?" Brennan asked when they reached the car.

"Uh," Booth paused with his hand on the door, "Nah, not really. She gave up on her marriage a long time ago. Why jeopardize her cozy little life by killing the person who provided it for her?"

They climbed into the vehicle and he looked over at her, "Do you think she had anything to do with it?"

"No, mainly because indifference is rarely an emotion that is attributed to an individual who kills their spouse. Unfortunately for us, it looks like we may have a long list of women who weren't indifferent to him to interview."

"Maybe," he turned the ignition, "or maybe his good buddy Ken can help us narrow down the suspect pool. I mean, if his wife is right and they really did share women then maybe he knows who was angry enough at Tom to kill him."

Brennan fastened her seatbelt and innocently asked, "Have you ever had a good buddy like that?"

He chuckled under his breath, "Uh no, you know me better than that, Bones."

"I know," she grinned, "but I also know that you dislike answering questions of that nature."

"Oh, so now you're just looking to make me uncomfortable, huh?" He looked over at her as he brought the SUV to a stop at an intersection.

The grin on his face was more than Brennan could handle and she looked away but not before she could feel a blush creeping up her neck. She cleared her throat and explained, "Not exactly. I'm just trying to see if any of your personal boundaries expanded over the last year."

Suddenly, an image of an eager, willing blonde laying on the ground under the stars in the middle of nowhere flashed in Booth's mind. As though his head was an _Etch-A-Sketch_, Booth shook it to remove the image. When the image was gone he nodded, "I think that they've expanded a little, yeah."

"I think mine did as well." Brennan said with a tone of voice that signaled the end of the conversation.

* * *

><p>"White truffles, scallions, and Old Bay seasoning," Hodgins declared as he charged up the steps of the platform.<p>

Cam grimaced. "Why do I get the feeling that you're about to ruin my dinner plans?"

"Probably because he is," Angela remarked as she turned to leave her husband's office.

Hodgins watched his wife leave, remembering that there was a time when she would stay for his big reveals and then turned to Cam. "Sorry. I'll try to keep out of barf territory."

Cam sighed. "You're going to fail miserably if you keep using words like that."

"Sorry. Right. Um... those... items that I mentioned before? Those were the particulates I found in the wounds," Hodgins said hesitantly.

Cam raised an eyebrow. "_In_ the wounds? Yep, Paul is definitely going to have to cancel our reservations. I'm either having a peanut butter sandwich for supper tonight or the supermodel special."

"Supermodel special?" Hodgins asked.

"Eat three crackers, then vomit," She explained wryly.

Hodgins grimaced, "_Anyway_, these white truffles are incredibly expensive and not sold anywhere locally, a few restaurants may have connections but there aren't a lot of places you can find them around here."

Cam nodded once, "I'll let Booth know. That should help him narrow down his suspects."

After leaving the platform, Angela walked into her office and found Brennan on the couch. "Make yourself at home, Bren."

Brennan looked up from her notes and nodded. "Angela, I found some markings on the bones that may be useful in helping us determine the weapon or weapons used."

"Well then, you've come to the right place, Sweetie," Angela said with a smile as Brennan handed her a USB drive.

"The sternum wasn't opened using traditional rib spreaders, nor was it merely shattered. It appears to have been split with a blade around 8 inches long and it cracked after only two or three attempts," Brennan said as Angela pulled up the first image. "It appears that the blade was used like a splitting maul, where sufficient force was applied to cleave the bone in two."

Angela shivered. "That's an unpleasant mental image."

Brennan ignored her comment. "Go to the image of the cervical vertebrae. It appears that the same weapon was used to sever the head."

"Okay." Angela pulled up the requested image.

"See the kerf marks on C1 and C2?" Brennan pointed at the screen. "They're similar to the ones on the sternum. The marks are measured and methodical, not indicative someone randomly slashing."

"So, this person knew what they were doing. Like a doctor or a butcher?"

"It's possible, but we'll know more if we can determine what type of knife was used." Brennan looked at the screen thoughtfully. "Though, even then we can't speculate about the training of the individual because they may have used a knife that is not commonly associated with their chosen profession."

"True. They may have just used whatever was around. A doctor could dismember someone just as easily in his fishing cabin as he could in a hospital," Angela remarked.

Brennan nodded. "The cuts were made with a straight blade that doesn't taper until it nears the tip. What types of blades do you have that fit that profile?"

Angela sighed. "Give me your measurements for the depth and angle of the cuts. It sounds like some sort of utility knife, but a wide variety of utility knives are used by chefs, butchers, and fisherman alike. It's going to take quite a while for the computer to run through all of them, Bren."

"Well, perhaps you can find something for me on the damage to the ribs while the program searches for matching blades," Brennan suggested.

Angela put an image of the rib cage up on the screen. "Sure, Sweetie."

"The ribs have multiple rows of evenly spaced indentations with radiating microfractures from each point of impact. I also found staining on the ribs, indicating that the victim was alive when he was struck with whatever caused the indentations, but there is no evidence of remodeling so I believe that they occurred ante mortem. Do you recognize this pattern?" Brennan asked.

Angela shook her head. "Not really. At least, not on that scale, but they do kind of look waffle-y."

Brennan raised an eyebrow. "Waffle-y?"

Angela pointed to the screen. "See? They kind of look like the reverse image of a pyramid."

Brennan nodded. "Like the impressions made by a waffle iron, I see."

"But they're tiny, Bren. I don't think this guy was beaten up with a tiny waffle iron. Actually, I can't imagine him being beat up with a full size waffle iron, either."

"Well, other objects contain a waffle pattern, Angela. We just need to find the one that could have logically made these impressions," Brennan said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, is that all?" Angela asked with her brow cocked.

Brennan nodded once, "Yes, for now at least."

As Brennan turned to leave, Angela called out, "I'll just be here looking for the utility knife in the haystack and a tiny, tiny waffle iron."

B&B

"How long were you and Tom business associates?" Booth asked Ken Hutchinson once they both sat down in the conference room.

"We started our business about 16 years ago but we've worked alongside each other since high school." He ran his hand over his thick, red goatee, "We all grew up together, me and Tom and Leigh. I just …. I can't believe he's gone."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Booth said quietly.

Ken took the well-worn baseball cap he had been wearing off and crumpled it in his hands, "Tom was the best friend I ever had…ever. Poor Leigh, she said you guys think he was murdered?"

"We do." Booth watched as the other man tried to regain his composure, not speaking again until he did. "To your knowledge, was there anyone who would have wanted to hurt Tom?"

Ken shook his head and wiped a stray tear from his eye, "Everyone loved Tom. He may have exploited his good fortune here and there but people generally liked him."

"What do you mean by exploited his good fortune?"

"Tom was a lucky guy, he had a beautiful wife who loved him and a successful business but that wasn't enough for him. He had a thing for food or more importantly women who worked around food, probably because his wife refused to cook. He always volunteered to take most of the restaurant calls we received. He even took a few cooking classes."

"Was he involved with anyone at the time of his disappearance?"

Exhaling, Ken began making a mental list and then shared, "There was Meghann, over at the Starboard, Sue at Rockners but he was really into this new girl named Ophelia, over at Breckingridge Grill – he spent most of his time with her."

Booth wrote the names down then looked up, "Uh, Leigh Baker mentioned that you and Tom liked to share _things_. Any idea what she meant by that?"

"Leigh has a funny way with words." Ken put his hat back on, "Other than the fact that Tom and I spent most of our adult lives in love with her, we didn't share much."

Booth looked him over suspiciously, "No, I'd say that was more enough."

B&B

"How could they have stayed friends and business partners for all these years when they were both infatuated with the same woman?" Brennan asked Booth and Sweets as they ate lunch at the diner.

"Well, in some cases unrequited love is enough for some people," Sweets offered.

"What, you're saying that Hutchins was able to stick around while his buddy was married to the woman he loved simply because just being able to see her on a regular basis was enough?" Booth shook his head, "I don't buy it."

"Why not, Agent Booth?" Sweets carefully took in the way each of the agent's facial muscles flexed while he was formulating his response.

"Because I would think that any sane person would eventually decide to," he glanced at Brennan before continuing, "look elsewhere for love. Not hang around having what he wanted smack him in the face."

"Perhaps, but you do have an excellent motive for murder." Sweets shifted in his chair, "Think about it, you pine away for a woman for the better part of your life and for awhile you're ok with the fact that she loved someone else – maybe you even convince yourself that this other man is somehow more worthy of her love than you but then over time, you start to see how poorly he treats her and it drives you mad that anyone could be so reckless with the object of your affection's emotions then he has one extra-marital affair too many and you snap." Sweets stopped when he noticed that his dining companions were holding back laughter. "What?"

"We were wondering when you were going to pause for air." Booth explained.

"Sorry, sometimes when I'm building an idea as I'm speaking it just all comes out."

"Sweets does make an excellent case,"Brennan suggested to Booth who shrugged but didn't say anything as he chewed his lunch. She looked back to Sweets and saw Claudia enter the diner, "There's Claudia, Sweets."

Sweets stood and gestured for her to join them.

"Hey Turner, did you get that info I asked you for?" Booth asked as soon as she sat down.

"That I did, sir." Claudia smiled and handed Booth a folder. "It seems that Breckingridge Grill is the only restaurant within a 20 mile radius that uses this particular kind of white truffle."

After a quick read through, Booth closed the file and handed it to Brennan, "Good work, Turner."

"Thank you, sir." Claudia sighed and looked over at Sweets and smiled, "What are we talking about?"

"We were discussing the current case and whether or not unrequited love was a good motive for murder," Brennan informed the young agent.

"Whose love was unrequited?" Claudia asked as she stole a fry from Sweets' plate.

Booth wiped his mouth and balled his napkin up, "It seems that the victim's partner has been in love with the victim's wife since high school."

Claudia thought for a beat and then asked, "Why would he resort to murder now? It seems to me that after all this time, he's probably pretty attached to carrying that torch and wouldn't know what to do if he had to put it down."

"I think you just got out shrinked by your girlfriend, Sweets," Booth teased.

"You think he did it?" Claudia asked.

Sweets glared at Booth and Brennan who seemed to be enjoying the moment a little too much, "Yeah, or rather I did. In light of the fact that those truffles can only be found at that one place, I've changed my mind."

Booth stood, "Well, Bones and I are going over to the Breckingridge Grill to have a chat with one of Tom's mistresses. Turner, why don't you head back to the office and read over the reports from the Jeffersonian. And Hooch, you do whatever it is you do when you're not with us."

After Booth and Brennan had left, Claudia turned to him, "They're so great. I never thought working for the FBI would be like this."

"Like what?"

She shrugged, "Most of the people in my class are stuck in basements doing filing or rooting through garbage for evidence but not me… I get to work with someone like Agent Booth, right out the gate then to top that off, I'm getting the chance to discuss cases with people from the Jeffersonian like Dr. Brennan…" Claudia trailed off with a happy sigh, "I'm just really lucky, that's all."

Sweets grinned before placing a chaste kiss on her cheek, "I'm glad you're happy."

"I really am." Claudia leaned over and gave him a not-so-chaste kiss on the lips.

B&B

"Ms. Murphy, did you know Tom Baker?" Booth asked the woman as they settled down at a table at the Breckingridge Grill in Georgetown.

The petite blonde nodded and through expansive blue eyes she looked up at Booth, "I-I loved him. Tom was…" She stopped herself from saying too much.

Brennan cleared her throat, "You were romantically involved with him?"

"I was," she looked up at Brennan and shrugged slightly, "I know that he was married and older than me but…he was special."

"It didn't bother you that he was married?" Booth asked.

"Not really…" She tucked a loose strand of her blonde locks behind her ear, "He was married to her but he was mine. All mine, I had the important parts of him."

The word 'parts' stuck out to Booth and Brennan, as they shared a knowing glance, "Parts? What parts?" Brennan asked.

"You know, he may have gone home to her every night, but he shared with me his dreams and his fears. He just knew me, from the moment we met…He even learned to cook for me, because I loved it. He was just that kind of man…."

Booth leaned away from Ophelia, "When was the last time you saw him?"

"He stopped by here on his birthday. Our boiler was on the fritz, so he was here most of the day. We had to close because of the heating problems so there weren't any customers. And after he was done working, I made him a special birthday dinner and we sat in the bar and watched the Last Waltz."

Booth arched an eyebrow, "The Last Waltz?"

"Yeah, when I met Tom last year, he was the first person who thought that I was named for the song and not the play. That's rare. The music kind of became a soundtrack for us…"

"The song?" Brennan asked.

"Yeah, 'Ophelia' by The Band?"

Brennan tilted her head, "Which band?"

Booth leaned over to her, "No, Bones. The band is called The Band."

Shaking her head, Brennan was confused, "That doesn't make any sense – why not name your band something?"

"I don't know, it worked for them, ok?" Booth shook his head and then returned his attention to Ophelia, "How long were you involved with Mr. Baker?"

"Close to nine months. We met when he came to fix our central air. He showed an interest in cooking." She smiled remembering him, "Then he just started stopping by, at first he would make up excuses and then I just started expecting him. It evolved very naturally."

Booth decided that the interview was now his, "And what was the age difference between you?"

"He was 18 years older than me but it never felt that way. He was young at heart."

"Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt him?"

"Everyone loved Tom…He was handsome and funny and an outstanding cook. I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt him."

Booth nodded as he took her words in, "Did you have any contact with Ken Hutchins?"

"I met him once or twice when he and Tom would stop in for lunch but he was always very quiet, never had much to say."

"Are you familiar with other chefs in the area?"

"You mean the other women that he was rumored to be involved with?"

"Rumors?" He looked at Brennan and hoped she'd play along with his dumb act, "Bones, have you heard any rumors?"

Brennan shook her head, "No, I haven't"

"Yeah, we haven't heard the rumors. Can you elaborate?"

"There were rumors that Tom had affairs with a number of other cooks in the area but I never believed that. Like I said, he was mine."

Brennan rolled her eyes, "Don't you think it's unhealthy to claim another person for yourself, especially one that is married to someone else?"

Ophelia leaned forward and placed her small manicured hand on Brennan's "I didn't claim him. He came to me and allowed me to possess him. He was a gift that I eagerly accepted. I know that what we had isn't the norm but because of that it was all the more special. It was…special."

Booth looked over at Brennan and raised a brow before asking, "You serve white truffles here, don't you?"

"Yes, we use them in several dishes. Why is that important?"

"Just something I had to ask." Booth stood and smoothed his tie down, "One last question, Ms. Murphy. Do you use a chef's utility knife in the kitchen here, for deboning chicken or cutting through ribs or anything like that?"

"We don't serve ribs here but yes, there are several utility knives that would be available for anyone in the kitchen to use."

"Ok," Booth looked at Brennan, "About ready?"

With one smooth movement Brennan stood, "Yes, I need to get back to the lab."

"Thank you, Ms. Murphy. We may need to speak to you again so please stay put, ok?"

She smiled demurely, "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

><p>"Marcheline." Cam said as she and Hodgins walked toward Angela's office.<p>

The entomologist made a disgusted face. "Sounds like a French prostitute."

"So you have a better idea?" Cam asked.

"Ignacio." He said proudly.

Cam looked at him strangely.

Hodgins shrugged his shoulders. "What? Ignacio Bolivar was a founding father of Spanish entomology."

"On what planet would that interest me? Besides, I'd have to home school him to prevent the inevitable daily beatings at recess," Cam shot back.

Cam though for a moment. "Alice."

Hodgins laughed. "Fat girl or possibly a moron who chases rabbits."

"What about Walker?" Hodgins asked.

Cam rolled her eyes. "Yes, I want to name my child after a device old people use to get across the room. What about Wheelchair or Cane?"

Angela groaned as she heard the lively discussion nearing her office. _Please tell me they're not coming in here!_

Hodgins looked triumphant as they walked through Angela's door. "Reese!"

Cam waved her hand at him dismissively. "Blonde actress with a pointy chin and an annoying voice."

"Ooh! What about Matilda?" Hodgins asked.

Cam looked at him wide eyed, but kept her mouth shut.

Hodgins crowed happily. "Ha! You actually _like_ that one! Come on, nothing insulting to say about Waltzing Matilda or anything like that?"

Cam muttered. "We don't even know if it's a girl or a boy yet, so getting attached to a single name would be unwise."

Hodgins grinned. "Yeah, but you _want_ to get attached to that one. Don't you?"

Angela cleared her throat. "_Why_ are you discussing about baby names in my office? Can't you and 'Uncle Jack' do that somewhere else? I'm trying to locate the weapons. Remember? Murder?"

"Sorry, babe. We got a little carried away," Hodgins said apologetically.

"Angela, we just came to see where you are with the search," Cam supplied.

Angela sighed. "I know that the knife is a French style 'chef's utility knife', but that's a very common knife. You can find them in most restaurant kitchens, but they're not uncommon in private homes as well."

"So, we've got a fork, a chef's knife, and the mystery waffle iron thing that somebody used to beat our victim until he was a pile of mush?" Hodgins asked.

Angela's eyes lit up in recognition. "Pile of mush! Somebody used one of those..." She made a hammering motion. "Mallet things that people use to... A meat tenderizer!"

Hodgins chuckled. "I love watching your brain work, Baby."

Angela sighed at the term of endearment but didn't respond as she picked up the phone to tell Brennan and Booth about the weapons.

B&B

"It appears that Tom Baker had a thing for women who knew their way around the kitchen. We talked to Sue Hulney and Meghann Grey, the other chefs that his partner mentioned and they both told the same story. He was a loving, fun man who was a culinary wiz and was the most sexually aroused when he was near food," Sweets reported to Booth and Brennan as the three of them met in his office.

"How did this guy have time for four women and his business?" Booth wondered aloud.

"He made the time…He was a gastrosexual…" Sweets waited for one of the partners to question his last statement.

"What?" Booth asked as he looked up from his notes.

"A man who uses food to seduce women. I wouldn't be surprised if you found that he had used this technique all over the area."

"Gastrosexual? Is that a clinical term?" Brennan asked suspiciously.

"Uh, not really. Not yet…I read about it in last month's Playboy." Sweets averted his eyes from Booth's. "But it is a real thing, it's just new on the psychology world's radar."

Booth smirked at Sweets' obvious discomfort in admitting where he had learned the term, "That's ok, Sweets. A boy's gotta learn the tricks of the trade somewhere."

"I really do read it for the articles…Ask Claudia!" The therapist's voice cracked as he pleaded his case.

"Uh huh. Yeah, that's what they all say," Booth chided before he leaned over to see what Brennan was staring at so intently, "You know Ophelia did it."

She looked over at him, "You may be correct, so far the evidence is suggesting that but we won't know for certain until we're able to search the restaurant's kitchen."

"Which we'll be able to do as soon as the search warrant is signed." He sighed, "The only thing I'm struggling is why she'd kill him."

"Maybe she got tired waiting for him to leave his wife?" Sweets interjected.

"Nah, the way she spoke about their arrangement…It seemed like she preferred it the way it was. She talked how their time together was even more 'special' because it was limited."

"And don't forget she mentioned how 'pieces' of him 'belonged' to her," Brennan reminded him.

"Those are interesting words for her to have used given the condition his body was in when you found it." Sweets leaned back in his chair and rest the tips of both pointer fingers on his lips as he thought, "What if she killed him because he wanted to change the nature of their relationship in a different way than ending it?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if he was going to leave his wife? What if he wanted to be with her all the time? That would make what they had less special at least in the way she views things."

Brennan tilted her head as she considered what Sweets said and then looked over at Booth, "Have you ever encountered a case where a mistress killed the man she was sleeping with _because _he was leaving his wife?"

Booth shook his head, "No, but there's a first time for everything."

B&B

Less than an hour later, Booth and Brennan stood in the kitchen of the Breckingridge Grill while the FBI forensic team executed the search warrant. Already the team had found blood on the wooden chopping block near the prep area and several knives that fit Angela's description.

When Brennan went over to make sure that the team bagged all of the knives available, Booth mindlessly opened the small refrigerator next to the prep table. He moved a few containers around and then stopped, "Heya Bones, could you come over here for a minute?"

"What is it?" She asked as she peered into the refrigerator.

"Uh, I'm not an expert or anything but that" he pointed to large sealed container, "looks like a human heart to me."

B&B

"So, did everything match up, Bones?" Booth asked as he and Sweets climbed the steps of the platform a few hours after they had finished the search of the kitchen.

Brennan looked up at them. "Cam confirmed that the heart was in fact Tom Baker's"

Sweets shuddered, "I mean, we knew it was cut out of his body but to know she kept it just a few feet away from where she cooked food is just…it's just gross."

Ignoring Sweets' outburst, Brennan continued, "She was also able to confirm that the blood found soaked into the butcher block belongs to the victim as well. Also, I was able to match the kerf marks on the cervical vertebrae to this chef's knife." She held up the item. "Based upon the depth and angle of the cuts, the assailant was approximately 5 feet 2 inches tall."

"The same height as Ophelia Murphy." Booth said thoughtfully.

Brennan nodded. "Although, at least two other women at the restaurant fit that description."

"But, to our knowledge, none of them were sleeping with the victim," Sweets pointed out.

"I agree with Sweets. Ophelia had motive and means, plus she's... Off, you know?" Booth asked.

Brennan indicated the other items on the table. "Cam and I discussed the timeline for the damage to the flesh and bones and we were able to determine a likely sequence of events. Tom Baker was stabbed in the eye with a fork and then was beaten unconscious with the meat tenderizer."

"Harsh." Sweets said, looking disgusted. "That fits with the 'crime of passion' scenario required for Ophelia to be the murderer."

Booth nodded. "So then, she cut off his head, cracked his chest and cut out his heart so she could keep it as a prize in her freezer?"

"No, it wouldn't be a trophy, Agent Booth. It would be more of a keepsake, to preserve what was important to her," Sweets replied.

Booth hitched his hands to belt, "Why she kept it doesn't matter, it just means that we've got her now."

* * *

><p>As Booth lead Ophelia into the interrogation room, Brennan and Sweets watched through the glass.<p>

Booth closed the door behind him, "Ms. Murphy, I'll admit that in the beginning I didn't think you had it in you."

"Had what in me?" She asked almost too innocently.

"Murder." He let the words sink in as he took a seat across from her, "Care to explain how we found your dearly-departed Tom's heart in your freezer?" He slapped photos of the frozen organ down in front of her.

"What? Tom? You found Tom's heart?" She covered her mouth in horror and looked away from the pictures.

Nodding slightly Booth continued, "We also found traces of his blood on a knife, several other utensils and soaked into the wood of your chopping board."

"I-I don't know how." She ran her hands through her hair.

"I've got a pretty good theory about how it all got there but I'd rather hear yours."

Ophelia leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, "You think I killed Tom?"

Booth nodded as he rocked his chair back on two legs, "You got a better suspect?"

"There are dozens of people who have daily access to my kitchen! Not to mention workers and delivery people who come through all the time. I just cleaned the coolers last week and that," she gestured toward the photographs without looking at them, "was not in there. I swear it wasn't." She dropped her head down to the table and Booth watched as her shoulders started to shake in time with her sobs.

"Uh, Booth," Sweets chirped in his earpiece, "Can you come here for a minute?"

Booth glared in the direction of the two-way mirror and dropped his chair down.

"Sit tight Ms. Murphy." He crossed the room and entered the observation area, "What's so important that you called me out of an interrogation?"

Brennan shrugged and took a step away from the two men.

"I think you're going at her too hard."

"I'm seconds from breaking her, what are you talking about?"

Sweets inhaled deeply, "She's not going to confess to someone who she thinks is angry with her, like you came across. Let me go in there and try a different approach."

Booth scrubbed his hands down his face and sighed, "Fine but you've got five minutes before I come in there."

"Alright." Sweets slowly entered the room with Ophelia, "Hi Ms. Murphy, I'm Dr. Lance Sweets. I'm a psychologist with the FBI."

"So, they think I'm crazy now?"

Sweets grimaced, for all the times he'd been asked that question or a variation of it, just once he'd like to say yes but this would not be that occasion. He shook his head and took a seat, "No, not at all. I'm just here to talk to you about your relationship with Tom Baker. Ok?"

Ophelia nodded and wiped a few tears off her cheeks.

"You had an intense and sexually charged relationship with Mr. Baker, didn't you?"

"Yes, I had never felt so alive or so comfortable in my own skin."

Sweets nodded in his therapist way and then asked, "Didn't it bother you that he was married and there was a chance that you weren't his only dalliance?"

Ophelia shook her head, "Of course it bothered me but when he was with me…"

"He was totally with you?"

"Yes. It wasn't ideal but I loved him."

"What could he have done to push you away?" Sweets asked quietly.

"Nothing. I understood the situation with his wife and other women's attraction to him, I knew I had competition."

"And there was a part of that you loved, correct?" Sweets asked with a slight smile on his face.

"It was fun, wrong almost…" The young woman smiled, "Like we had this big secret and we were the only people who knew it, it made me feel special."

"What if Tom had come to you and told you that he was leaving his wife so he could be with you?"

Ophelia's eyes widened, "How did y-you know?"

"I didn't know that was just a guess." He turned and looked at the two-way mirror with pride. "Tom was going to leave his wife for you?"

Ophelia cautiously looked around the room and then back to Sweets, "I-I just wanted things to stay the way they were. I just didn't want things to change."

Feeling that her confession was imminent, Sweets leaned forward, "Tom came to you, and told you that he was getting divorced and you just snapped, didn't you?"

"I-I didn't know what else to do." She explained with glassy, pleading eyes. "He showed up at the restaurant and told me that he was going to file for divorce and…"

Sweets leaned closer to her, "You stabbed him in the eye with a fork, beat him unconscious with a meat tenderizer, then lobbed his head off with your handy utility knife and dumped him in the Potomac, but not before you took his heart as a memento."

With tears in her eyes, she nodded her head slowly and then dropped her forehead on the cold metal table. She swallowed hard and confessed to the floor, "I don't handle change well and Tom wanted to change everything."

"Looks like Sweets got the confession," Brennan smirked as she looked over at Booth. "And he was correct about her motive, as well."

"Yeah, well even a blind dog finds a bone every once in awhile." Booth remarked as he tossed a poker chip in the air and caught with a snap of his wrist.

She looked over at her partner wanting to ask him a question she'd been thinking about for days, but hadn't found the right time to ask. She glanced back at Sweets, who was still speaking with Ophelia, and she knew she had a few minutes before Booth had to go in and formally charge the young woman. Swallowing hard, and with fake enthusiasm she asked, "Have you already had your blind date?"

Booth's eyes darted over to his partner, "Uh, no. Not yet."

"But you're going to?"

"Yeah, I am." He found it hard to look at her but he forced himself to. When he did, he was certain he saw a microsecond flash of pain in her eyes causing him to have to explain just why he was going. "I'm not going because I want to, I'm going because Padme asked and…" he sighed, "I haven't…Other than Pops and Parker, Jared is all the family I've got, and if doing this makes them happy then…"

Brennan nodded with a small smile, "I get that."

He looked at her curiously, "You do?"

"Yes, we do things for family."

"Yes, we do." He matched her smile with a bigger one, thankful that she understood or at least she spoke as though she did.

B&B

Outside Restaurant 55, Booth caught his reflection in the window causing him to pause and once again consider why he was there. He knew deep down that, he didn't want to be there but yet, there he was. He sighed heavily as he ran his hand across his chin and cursed himself for not being able to say no to family. With a shake of his head, he reached for the door and entered the restaurant.

As he passed through the bar, heading toward the dining area, he heard a familiar voice, one he had left behind months before. It was a husky voice laced with honey and a touch of Tabasco. He turned and saw Hannah on the large TV that hung behind the bar. His muscles tensed and his stomach dropped as he paused to watch her. She was still in Afghanistan, reporting from just outside the Bajaur village, where US military forces had recently rounded up nearly a dozen insurgents. Booth thought she looked good but it was more than that, she looked damn happy in her flak jacket with her face speckled with dirt and sand while the wind blew her golden locks every which way.

Booth's posture relaxed and he blew out of a sigh of relief as he dropped his hands into his pockets. _That_, right there, was why he left that voice behind – she was happy and at her best in that world and Booth simply wasn't, he wasn't even really himself over there, he was a shell of himself going through the motions. It took him a few months to realize that he'd left most of who he was back in DC, with exception of a small, but not marginal, piece that hopped a flight to Indonesia and when that realization hit him, he ended things with that sweet and spicy voice. Reassured by the image on the screen, he turned to face the dining area, knowing for certain that he couldn't keep this date. He smiled to himself and quickly made his way out of the restaurant, his feet propelling a 100%, complete Seeley Booth out the door.

Once outside, he reached for his phone and quickly conjured up an excuse as he waited for the other party to answer. And then, before his excuse was finalized in his mind, they picked up, "Hey Padme, uh…I know it's last minute and all but uh, I'm not going to be able to make dinner tonight, something came up with work and I've gotta be there, I'm really sorry…" He paused, waiting for her response and then he launched into his not-fully-finished excuse, "No, really. We're in the middle of a huge case and I'm the agent in charge so…" he caught his reflection in the window and couldn't help but smile when he answered his sister-in-law's last question, "Reschedule? Uh, I don't think so…Yeah, I'm sure…Really, I'm all set."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us next week, when a young baseball player is found brutally murdered, the team must cover all their bases in the search for the culprit. Meanwhile, Brennan's Indonesian fling shows up unexpectedly at the lab, and she and Booth are forced to face the ramifications of their year apart in The Low Point in the Line Up by Rynogeny.<strong>_


	4. The Low Point in the Line Up

6.5 x 04 The Low Point in the Line-Up by rynogeny

Bill Tobin, general manager of Emerald Hills Country Club, forced back a scowl and smiled at the man – one of their wealthiest, most prominent members – standing in front of him. "I'm sorry, Mark. The batting cage should have been unlocked by now." He grabbed his keys and started toward the door. "But on top of re-opening after the storm, Matt didn't show today."

"Matt skipped work?"

"Looks that way." The two men left the main building and started down the path towards the batting cage. On either side of them were tree limbs knocked to the ground by the storm that had hit four days earlier. "He's never been so much as five minutes late, and now, on a day when I really need him, he's a no-show, no-call. So much for reliable teenagers, huh?" He paused to shift a large branch off the path.

Mark whistled and grabbed the other end. "You all really got hammered, didn't you?"

"Yeah. It's been difficult to get a start on cleaning it up without power. I've never been so grateful for electricity in my life."

They resumed their walk, and Mark smiled, "I'm sorry to ask you to walk all the way out here, then. But my son's coming for a visit this weekend, and I like to practice my hitting before our pickup games." He chuckled. "No one's as vain as a decrepit former college baseball star."

Bill gave what felt like the first real laugh in days. "Hardly decrepit. But it's good for me to get out this way and take a closer look at the damage. We've been concentrating our clean-up on the golf course in the other direction." His smile faded. "I hope the cage itself is still standing." He broke into a jog and sighed with relief when they came out of the trees and he saw the structure in front of him. Because it was a ways from the main building and yet contained some pricey equipment, it was made of iron bars placed close enough to prevent someone from getting inside merely by using wire cutters to snip through the fencing that made up the walls. Apparently, the iron had been heavy enough, and grounded well enough, to prevent the cage from blowing over in a storm that had done some significant damage.

His relief was short lived as he realized the door was ajar, and then even that concern was wiped from his mind when the smell hit him. Grimly, he ignored Mark's gagging, and covered the last few feet to the batting cage at a run. A former marine who'd served in Desert Storm, he knew that smell. Hoping it was an animal, he stepped around the door and immediately backed away, retching.

A bloody, gory mess was pinned in some fashion at the other end of the cage and it was most definitely human.

B&B

Brennan slowed to pick her away around another large limb on the path from the service road to the batting cage. "I don't understand this facility, Booth. Is it an amusement area for the privileged or a federal park?"

"Both, Bones." He shoved another branch out of the way, glad to see it looked like the path was clear from this point. "The country club donated some land to the adjoining historical park a few years ago, with the understanding that they could continue to use it."

"Is that why this hitting practice room is back here?"

"Batting cage. And yes, something like that. The country club is laid out in sections, with green space between the pool, the tennis courts, and the batting cage."

They stepped out of the trees and paused for a moment, taking in the cage and its setting before continuing over to the structure. Techs were beginning to process the area around the cage, but the interior was vacant. Stepping carefully to avoid tripping over the baseballs that littered the floor, Brennan went immediately to the body, while Booth stopped to examine the machine immediately in front of the door.

He whistled. "This is a top of the line pitching machine, the kind used by the pro teams."

"I assume that means it's capable of launching a great many projectiles at a high rate of speed."

Booth looked at the baseballs. "We'll have to verify with the manufacturer, but there look to be close to a hundred balls in here, and a hopper this size could have held them all. And these pitchers can shoot at up to 90 mph."

"There is a great deal of soft tissue here that Cam needs to examine, but the damage I'm seeing would be consistent with being struck repeatedly by balls being fired at that velocity."

"There's a reason why catchers wear protective gear," he muttered. "What have you got on the victim?"

"Male, between the ages of 16-19."

Booth looked at the victim, tried to see something identifiable as a teenager, and couldn't. Although most of the balls had struck his chest area, either stray balls, general decomp, or animals had obliterated personal features.

Shaking his head, he moved carefully around to where he could see how the victim had been restrained. "He's secured to the back of the cage by cloth cargo restraints around his arms, legs, and chest."

Curious, Brennan shifted to look at what he was seeing. "It looks quite effective."

"It certainly did the job." He looked around again. "Being a few feet further back from where the player normally stands doesn't appear to have made much difference to him. I'm going to go check with the techs and see what they've found outside."

"We need to get back to the lab. I won't be able to do a full examination until Cam has done the autopsy and the flesh has been removed."

He knelt and studied one of the balls. "It's possible some of these balls were on the floor before the attack but this one is smeared with blood. Hodgins is going to be busy, too."

He walked out, and Brennan turned to watch him go. They'd worked several cases since reuniting, but the sense of …rightness about being back, working with him, was still strong. She frowned, uncertain of the right term to express the emotion, even privately. What they did was important, but what she did on digs was important, too, if in a different way. If the year apart had proven anything, it was that she could work without him, and do so successfully. But the contentment she felt in partnering with him had shown her that she found more satisfaction in what they did together than in any other use of her skills.

* * *

><p>Booth stepped out of the cage and watched one of the FBI techs come toward him. "Anything?"<p>

"Not much on the ground so far. Damage from the storm is complicating our canvas. But there is this." He motioned Booth over the trees and pointed up, to a security camera pointed at the cage.

"What the hell is that? It's pink."

"Yes sir. The lens is covered by some sort of pink substance. I can't tell what it is or how it got up there, but I'm assuming it did a superb job of blinding the camera."

Booth looked from the camera to the cage and back up. "Whoever strapped the kid to the wall did some advance planning, in other words." He looked around again. "Continue to process the scene. I'm going to go talk to the general manager."

The tech pointed to a small group of people standing outside the area marked off by crime scene tape. "Bill Tobin. He's the guy with the cap."

"Thanks." He studied the man as he walked over to him, noted the grim expression on his face. "Mr. Tobin? I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI. Can I have a few minutes of your time?"

"Agent Booth." Tobin acknowledged the greeting. "Any idea who that is?" He shook his head, grimaced. "I saw enough to know I didn't want to see anymore, and that was already too much."

"We're working on that. Can you tell me who was the last person out this way before this morning?"

"As far as I know, it would have been Matt Foster. He's a senior at the local high school, and does general maintenance work for me on the evenings and weekends. We locked up an hour or so early on Friday night when the forecasters started saying how bad the storm was going to be. None of our members were here – the place was a ghost town. So I secured the other buildings while Matt came out here – the batting cage was sort of his pet project."

"Did you see him leave?"

"No. When I finished the main building, his car was no longer in the lot, so I assumed he had already left."

Booth jotted some notes on the blank index cards he'd pulled out of his pocket. "What do you mean the batting cage was his pet project?"

"Kid's got a lot of talent – he's one of the stars of the local high school team, and a lot of people around here think he might have what it takes to go pro. One of the perks is he can use the facilities for free, and Matt's almost always in the cage when he's not working and no one else is using it."

"Have you talked to Matt since the storm hit?"

"No. School's canceled today because of storm cleanup, so I left him a voice mail telling him I could really use him, and was expecting to see him when I arrived this morning. He's always here, looking for extra hours. But he's not called, and I've not seen him."

Booth was starting to wonder if the reason Matt hadn't come to work was because what was left of him was tied to the back of the batting cage, but he didn't say so. "I saw your security camera up there. How many more do you have?"

"About two dozen around the different buildings, but that's the only one pointed toward the cage."

Booth nodded, unsurprised. "We'll need the footage for all of them."

B&B

As a rule, Camille Saroyan didn't eat much red meat. Although she wasn't a vegetarian, she limited her indulgence, generally seeking protein from healthier alternatives. But she'd been craving hamburgers while pregnant. Big, thick, juicy ones.

She was pretty sure the body in front of her, a young man whose chest area was pulverized to the point of resembling ground beef in places, was going to correct that for her.

"Even one baseball can do significant damage," she noted to Booth and Brennan. "This is just …" She lifted out what had been the victim's heart, placed it in a tray. "The heart's nearly unrecognizable, his ribs are shattered, the lungs perforated."

"So, no cause of death, then?" Booth asked. At Cam's look, he said, "Specifically. I get that any of that could have killed him."

"If the first ball actually struck the area over his heart, that could have disrupted the rhythm sufficiently to kill him, even without the rest of it. Determining exactly which ball ended his life is probably going to be impossible."

Booth nodded and addressed both women. "Is what you're seeing consistent with the build and condition of a high school baseball star?"

"Although I'll know more once I've examined the bones, I see nothing that rules that out," Brennan said.

Cam nodded. "I would agree. Why?"

"Matt Foster, who worked for the country club and was last seen heading toward the cage shortly before the storm struck, is unaccounted for."

Cam looked at the body again. "Nothing else to go on at this point. I'll order his dental records."

"Do we have an estimate of time of death yet?" Booth asked.

"Given the damage from the balls, and allowing for the effects of animals and being out in the open during heat, wind, and rain, I'd estimate a window between a few hours prior to the beginning of the storm on Friday evening and sometime early Saturday. No later than that."

"And it's hard to picture someone committing that particular murder in the middle of that storm, so more than likely it happened shortly before."

"Hey, guys." Angela swiped her card and entered the platform, but then stopped, staying a few feet back from the body. "I've got the specs back on the pitching machine. You were right," she said to Booth. "That model is commonly used by pro teams, a definite upgrade over what most high schools and clubs can afford. It's programmable, can alternate both in types of pitches and speed."

"How many balls does it hold?" Booth asked.

"Up to eighty."

"Do we know what kind of program it was running this time?"

"Mixed and random" Angela said. "It would alternate between fastballs at 90 mph, and curve balls at 75 mph as well as several other types of pitches in a random pattern."

"That's why some of the damage is spread out," Cam said, glancing back down at the body.

"Hell of a way to kill someone." Booth said. Then he frowned as he remembered the storm. "It also requires electricity to run." He glanced at Cam. "We need to know exactly when the power to the country club failed, but much of that area was without electricity from late Friday evening through this morning. He was killed either shortly before the storm struck, or at least before it ramped up enough to take down the power lines."

* * *

><p>"So you don't have an ID yet?" Sweets asked from the door of Booth's office.<p>

"No. The general body type matches the kid last known to be there, but there's no car, no wallet. I'm waiting for Cam to get back to me on the dentals."

"I looked at the initial report. This was deliberate and rather cold."

"Yeah, nothing impulsive about it."

"I think it's more than that. There are easier ways of killing someone, but to use a machine that's connected to a specific activity may mean that baseball was significant to both of them."

"Or it could just mean that the killer liked the remote location." His phone rang. "Booth." He listened for a moment and then said, "Thanks, Cam." Hanging up, he stood, looked at Sweets. "Dental records confirm it's Matt Foster. You're with me."

"Okay, but why?"

"Might as well have a shrink along when I break the news to his parents."

B&B

It never took as long as it seemed it ought to wreck someone's life, Booth reflected as they left the Fosters' home.

"It seems like there should be more we can do for them." Sweets asked, looking back at the couple standing in the door.

"Trust me. Their kid is dead. Nothing we say is going to make that better. They've got family on the way over, and their priest is coming. What we can do now is find out who did it, and we're going to do that by following the rabbit trail they laid out for us."

"They did?"

They had reached the SUV, and Booth turned, gave him an impatient look. "Were you listening? They were out of town, thought Matt was staying with his friend Adam. In fact, they even got a text message from Matt reassuring them after the storm hit."

"Ah. Right." Sweets nodded, "I guess I was paying more attention to how they were doing than to exactly what they were saying. So we're going to go talk to Adam?"

"Since no cell phone was found at the scene, yes, talking to Adam is next on the list."

Sweets was silent as they got in the truck and Booth programmed Adam's address into his phone for directions. But as soon as Booth pulled out into the street, he said, "So you seem to be adjusting well to being back from Afghanistan."

Booth snorted. "Of course I am. It wasn't exactly my first rodeo, you know?"

"It's not about how many times you're there," Sweets said earnestly. "It's how you process the experiences. And sometimes bad reactions come in waves."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Dr. Brennan expressed concerns about you when you came home and noted that you were 'jumpy'. Although I realize it was her way of getting me to come back to work with you guys it doesn't mean there's not-"

Booth couldn't wait to ask Brennan about this, "Oh, for the love of God…I am fine." But he knew Sweets and he knew the kid wouldn't let it go. He glanced over at the younger man, "But I'll make you a deal."

"What?"

"You shut up right now, and if I ever start wigging out over cars backfiring, I promise I'll call you."

"Deal," Sweets said immediately, and settled back against the seat, a smug look on his face. "But there are other symptoms of PTSD…"

"Sweets!"

Sweets raised a hand, "Shutting up."

Booth ground his teeth and glanced at the map on his phone, grateful to see they were nearly to Adam Ridge's house.

Booth knew when they stepped onto the porch that Matt's parents had called Adam. Leaned back against the door, the teen was looking down at the cell in his hand as if he'd never seen it before.

Booth showed his badge. "Adam Ridge? I'm FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth, and this is Dr. Lance Sweets. May we come in for a minute? We'd like to ask you some questions."

"He's not dead. He texted me." Adam looked up, a bewildered expression on his face, and then held out the phone.

Booth read the readout out loud. "Hey man, 'rents aren't going out of town b/c of storm. Want me home. Catch you next week." He handed the phone to Sweets to examine, noting, "It was sent at the same time as the one to Matt's parents, at 9:30 PM on Friday." He turned back to Adam. "When was the last time you saw Matt?"

"In school on Friday. He was heading to work, was going to come here when he got off that night."

Sweets studied the message, then glanced up at Adam. "Anything about the text strike you as odd?"

Adam started to shake his head, then frowned. "He's never called his folks 'rents' before. He'd usually just say 'Mom' or sometimes 'M&D'." He glanced over at the phone Sweets was holding. "It's seriously creepy if a killer sent the text."

"Was Matt having problems with anyone?" Booth asked.

"Nah. Most everyone liked him. He could be an ass when it came to playing but he really was the best and everyone knew it. Coach said two years ago if Matt kept improving, scouts would come around, and they did, even recently, when it's off-season." He frowned again. "Actually…"

"What?"

"It's probably stupid, you know? Just something people say. But Logan Chamberlin said the other day that he'd have to find a way to get rid of Matt."

"Any idea why?"

"Logan and Matt have been going head to head for years. I didn't think anything of it, because Matt could just easily have said the same thing about getting rid of Logan. But Logan would really like to catch the eye of the scouts."

"Who wouldn't?" Booth asked. "Thanks, Adam. You've been a big help."

"He's really dead?" His voice shook a little.

"I'm afraid so."

Adam took a deep breath. "We'd been buds since pre-school, man. This sucks."

B&B

"Dr. Brennan?"

She looked up from the autopsy report she was studying. "Yes, Mr. Vaziri?"

"I've finished cleaning the bones, and there are several things I believe you should see."

"There are no doubt many things I should see," she agreed before standing, following the intern back to the bone room. "What did you find?"

"Much of the damage is as we expected – most of his ribs were shattered, as was his manubrium, sternum, and clavicle." He moved the camera into position, focused it, then pointed to the monitor. "But there is also this." He picked up the skull and turned it so she could see the damaged area on its back.

"That wasn't caused by any of the baseballs," she said, taking the skull from him and moving the camera so the focus was on the injury.

Turned to the monitor and intent on the spider web of cracks emanating from the depression in the parietal, she barely registered another person entering the room, turning only when Cam called her name. The response she was about to make faltered when she saw the man standing next to the pathologist, and for a moment, she could only stare. She hadn't expected to see him again, and certainly not in her lab. " Richard. What are you doing here?"

* * *

><p>Apparently unfazed by her blunt greeting, the tall, lanky man smiled, his green eyes glinting with amusement. "I'm due in New York tomorrow for a meeting, and arranged a stopover in DC so I could see you."<p>

He started toward her, and Brennan glanced down at the skeletal remains of Matt Foster. Knowing his attention would shift to the bones, she pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in her pocket before glancing at her intern. "Please get photos of the skull injury to Angela so she can begin seeking a match to a weapon." She turned, walked toward Richard. "Let's go to my office." He glanced at the remains, then followed her.

He whistled as they walked past the platform. "This is some place. Is there anything you don't have here, equipment wise?"

"Nothing important. We're well funded."

"So those remains…murder victim?"

"I'm not going to discuss that with you." She made a point of not repeating mistakes.

Richard held up his hands. "Sorry. Incurable curiosity – you'd do the same thing."

Uncomfortable because he was right and feeling guilty because Richard was nothing like Michael Stires, she led him into her office. "You're correct. I'm sorry if I sounded unnecessarily harsh. There are controls over who is allowed near remains."

"Of course. No worries." He reached out and touched her cheek. "I didn't come to see your work. I came to see you."

"Why?"

"God, I miss that get-to-the-point nature."

"I see little point in prevaricating."

"I know. It's one reason I'm crazy about you." He looked thoughtfully around her office.

"I came to see you because I miss you," he said simply. "And I'm hoping you'll give me a chance to prove we can have a relationship, even with you here and me at Stanford or wherever." He waved a hand as if to indicate the distances were negligible.

He moved to embrace her, and Brennan returned the hug before gently extricating herself. "There's more to it than just distance." So much more, including things she was still struggling to understand herself. But she would do her best to explain it. She owed him that, and more. She glanced at her watch. "I'll meet you for dinner this evening, if you wish."

He smiled at her offer. "I'd like that very much." Taking out a business card, he jotted something on the back of it.

"Here's where I'm staying."

"It may be late," she warned.

"I understand."

Brennan doubted that very much, but before she could say so, Booth walked into her office. "Hey, Bones. Think we might have a lead." He stopped when he saw Richard and an eyebrow went up.

"Booth, this is Dr. Richard Edgely, a colleague of mine. Richard, this is my partner, Special Agent Seeley Booth."

Richard reached out a hand in greeting. "Agent Booth, I've heard a lot about you."

Booth returned the handshake. "Dr. Edgely." Dismissing the other man, he turned to Brennan. "Cam gave me the short version of the autopsy, but told me you might have something more."

"Yes. Mr. Vaziri found an unexplained injury. I'll tell you in the car." She turned back to Richard. "I'll call you later."

"I'll look forward to it." He acknowledged Booth with smile. "Agent Booth. Good luck with your case."

"There is no such thing as luck," Brennan noted.

B&B

"So he was hit in the head before being tied to the batting cage?" Booth asked as Brennan finished her summary in the SUV.

"Yes. It would have been impossible to do that much damage to that location after he was secured to the structure."

"Did that blow kill him?"

"I have not yet determined that. It is not impossible. Equally possible is damage to the heart caused by one of the broken ribs."

"The head injury makes sense. I'd wondered how easy it was to strap him in like that if he were awake and struggling," Booth admitted. "Of course, a dead weight wouldn't be exactly easy to maneuver, either."

"So we maybe looking for two suspects?"

"Maybe."

They fell silent, and Brennan's thoughts turned back to Richard. She wasn't unhappy at seeing him. She appreciated his intelligence, his curiosity about all things archaeological and anthropological. But the mild affection she'd felt when she'd seen him standing next to Cam was very different from the pleasure she'd experienced when Booth had walked into her office.

"So who's Richard?" Booth asked nonchalantly.

"What?"

"You put me a bit at a disadvantage there, Bones. He knew more about me than I did him."

Wondering if she'd violated another rule of social etiquette, she shrugged. "It was not my intention to create an imbalance between you. We met in Indonesia. He teaches at Stanford and spent several months assisting us on the dig."

"Ah."

Brennan was uncertain enough of her own emotions not to ask for an explanation of his 'ah,' instead she turned back to the murder. "You said we're going to question a possible suspect?"

Booth let the conversation go. "A kid who made a threat against the victim. Turns out Foster was getting some pretty significant attention from college scouts, but he wasn't the only player on the team."

"I don't understand."

"What? The scouts, or competition?"

"What do Boy Scouts have to do with college and baseball?"

His lips twitched into a smile. "Sport scouts, Bones. They travel around looking for likely players to be tapped for sports programs offering scholarships and the like. Being scouted by the right school with the right program will make it easier for them to get noticed by one of pro teams."

She frowned. "Shouldn't they select a university based on their area of academic interest?"

"Let's just say that for someone like Matt Foster, baseball was his area of interest, academic or not."

"What if he's not scouted? It's foolish to put all his apples in one basket."

"Foolish or not, it's what kids do."

"And someone else is doing the same thing?"

"That's what the victim's friend Adam says, and the coach verified it when I went by to see him after dropping Sweets off. Says Matt and this kid Logan Chamberlin were big rivals, but Matt usually edged out Chamberlin when it came down to it."Booth checked the address, then came to a stop in front of a small, well-kept house.

"This isn't far from where the victim lives," he noted.

"Is it okay for us to interrogate him if his parents aren't home?"

"It's just an interview, Bones. And he's eighteen, so, yeah."

A young woman opened the door at their knock, and frowned when Booth introduced them and showed his badge. "Logan," she shouted. "Cops are here. What did you do?"

"What? Nothing!" A voice shouted back. There was the sound of a chair scraping the floor and then a young man appeared in the door to what was clearly the kitchen. He was frowning.

"You're Logan Chamberlin?" At his nod, Booth repeated his introduction. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Yeah, sure. Come on in the kitchen."

When they entered the kitchen they found that beside the young woman, another young man was also at the table. Booth judged the other boy and the girl to be a year or two older than Logan.

Booth took out a note card. "Who are you two?"

The girl had moved to the counter and picked up a knife and began chopping carrots. Based on the pile on a platter, she was resuming what she'd been doing before Booth had knocked. "I'm Amy Chamberlin," she said. "I'm Logan's sister. That," she motioned toward the third teen with her knife, "is my boyfriend, Tyler Ridge."

"What's going on?" Logan asked.

Booth turned back to him."Where were you on Friday evening?"

He frowned. "That was the night the storm hit. They canceled the football game, so I came home. Nothing else going on with everyone freaked about the storm."

"Was anyone here?"

"Yeah, Mom was. Dad worked late."

"When was the last time you saw Matt Foster?"

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Why? What is he accusing me of?"

Booth studied him for a moment. "Nothing. Have you done something?"

"Hell, no. I try to leave wonderboy alone, except when I whip his ass on the field."

"When did you last see him?" Brennan asked.

Logan glanced at her, and his anger seemed to be fading to puzzlement. "At school on Friday. We're in a class together. But I didn't talk to him or hassle him. Not much point in the off-season. Why? What's he saying I did?"

"He's not saying anything. He's dead," Booth said.

Logan simply stared, the blood visibly draining from his face. "He's what?"

"Dead," Amy snapped. "And they wouldn't be here if he'd dropped dead of a heart attack." She brought the knife down sharply on a carrot, and Booth looked at her thoughtfully, then glanced at Tyler, who had yet to say a word. He was pretty sure the kid was stoned. Either that or he was a few IQ points short. "Just to cover all the bases, where were you two on Friday?"

Amy glared at Booth, snapped the knife through another carrot. "I'm a student at Georgetown, but I come home most weekends." She motioned to Tyler. "We were together."

"Doing what? Where?" Booth directed his question to Tyler, wondering if the kid even had a voice.

"My house. I live at home, take a few classes." He seemed to struggle to get the words out.

Yeah, definitely high. "Were your parents there?"

Tyler blinked, then shook his head. "Mom was working."

"He's really dead?" Logan asked, and Booth shifted his attention back to him, and saw both shock and grief in his eyes.

"Yeah, he's dead. And someone said you might have a reason to want him that way."

"Oh, great," Amy said bitterly. "Even dead, he's going to ruin your life."

Logan shoved up, tipping his chair over with a clatter. "Shut up! Just shut up," he shouted. "He wasn't trying to ruin my life. He was just doing what we do. He was playing ball."

"Yeah, well, the scouts won't come to see you playing in penal league, will they?"

Ignoring her, Booth looked at Logan. "You were competing for the attention of the same scouts. From what I hear, you were pretty evenly matched."

Logan shook his head. "Matt was the better player. I always hit what I aim for, but he had the better arm."

"So with him out of the way, you might score a pretty good deal."

He turned, righted the chair. "What the hell difference will it make? We learned to play on the same tee ball team. Beating him would have been sweet. Beating a dead guy? Not so much."

Booth's glance took in Brennan, who was studying Logan the way she might an oddly shaped bone, to Tyler and then to Amy, who was now staring blankly down at the carrots.

She looked up. "I know I'm sounding like an uber-bitch. I'm sorry he's dead. I'm not sorry for what it will mean for Logan."

Brennan glanced at her. "You probably shouldn't chop vegetables when you're upset. It appears as if you've already sustained an injury on your hand."

Amy touched the bandage on her left thumb. "Yeah, I tend to get worked up."

Booth looked back at Logan. He'd picked up the chair and was leaning on its back, staring down at the table. "We'll be going. Thank you for your time."

They walked out in silence and didn't speak until they were back in the SUV. As Booth pulled away, Brennan turned, studied him. "You don't think he did it."

Booth shook his head. "No. His shock and grief were real. It sounds to me like they were

friends as kids, and let their rivalry drive them apart. But he was telling the truth when he said that winning the scouts' attention wouldn't mean as much if he won simply because Matt was no longer there."

"Some kind of jock honor code?" Brennan asked with a slight smile.

"Something like that." He didn't elaborate, his mind on the teens they'd just left. "No, Logan didn't do it. But his sister's on the possibles list."

"You think she did it to help her brother?"

He grimaced, unable to help himself. "People do all kinds of things for family, Bones."

They both had reason to know that.

From her expression, Brennan was thinking the same thing, but she let the comment pass.

"Amy does not look strong enough to have secured Matt to the cage herself."

"Probably not but she might have had help."

"The boyfriend?"

"Yeah. I'd be interested in knowing whether he's just one of those kids who's always high or if it's just how he's coping with having committed murder."

"He appears to be quite weak-minded. He might crack in the interrogation room."

Booth smiled at her terminology, but shook his head. "He may crack, but I'd rather have more to go on than weak motive and a hunch."

"Then we'll find it. Perhaps Angela has matched a weapon for the injury to the skull."

"And meanwhile, I'll do some digging on Amy and Tyler."

They drove in silence for a while, then Booth's curiosity got the better of him. "So, you're having dinner with Richard?"

She hesitated in a way he'd never seen her do before when discussing a date, and Booth forced back a smile of satisfaction at that." Yes," she said. "There are several things I must discuss with him."

B&B

"Stanford, huh?" Booth asked as he and Brennan walked back into the lab a short while later.

"Yes, Richard teaches part time at Stanford. It's actually a very nice arrangement. He has time to take part in digs and do research, as well as to teach. He's quite popular with students."

Booth could care less how appealing the other man was to students, only about how popular he was with Brennan. Since returning, things had been different between them – he'd caught her watching him a few times with a look he'd never seen from her before, for starters. And then there was what he'd seen in her eyes when Padme had tried to set him up. They were in a good space, moving toward a better place and at their own pace.

Still, he wished he knew more about what Richard wanted with Brennan. He couldn't ask, though. Wherever they were, it wasn't there – not yet.

"…he's writing a book about the Maluku find, and what it meant." Brennan said, and he realized she'd been talking about the man the entire time he'd been thinking about him.

Booth grunted, glad to have a reason to change the subject as they walked into Angela's office. "Hey, Angela. You get anything on the weapon?"

She shook her head and motioned to a screen that where an endless assortment of items that could be used as a weapon was flickering by. "My eye says it might be a baseball bat, but I'm waiting for confirmation because that might just be my seeing something that doesn't exist."

"We didn't find a bat at the scene," Brennan said, then looked at Booth. "Should we have?"

"What do you mean?"

"Should they stock them, like they do the balls?"

"No, people generally bring their own. But whether it's a bat or not, it's one more thing missing from the crime scene, along with Matt's wallet and cell phone. There was nothing there that could have been used to hit someone in the head."

"But just because I've not yet found the weapon doesn't mean I've not found other answers," Angela said pointedly. When they turned back to her, she touched something on her control pad and said, "I've ran the footage from the security cameras. This is the one from the batting cage."

On the screen, Booth and Brennan watched her fast-forward through people going in and out of the cage.

"So far, I've gone back a week and haven't seen anything that looks odd. Matt was there almost every evening, sometimes to lock the cage, sometimes to practice. No one was ever with him, and there's no sign of anyone poking around or appearing to study the cage. Eighteen country club members or their guests used the cage in that week, and none of them acted out of the ordinary. I'm working on their names. But this," she slowed the recording, "is what happened last Friday evening."

They watched as there was a quick flicker of movement to the left, and then the picture went dark. Angela replayed it, slower, and Booth again caught a flash off to the far left of the frame before the picture was again obliterated.

"What is that?" Brennan asked.

"I've got it!" Hodgins interrupted from the door. "I know what it is. The pink stuff on the camera."

They all turned toward him, but Booth noted that Angela took a subtle step back.

"Are you going to share the information or just stand there grinning?" Booth asked.

"It's paint ball paint. Someone – a good shot with a good gun – stood off to the side of the camera and fired a paint ball pellet at the camera lens."

"Paint ball paint?" Booth repeated, then looked back at the monitor where Angela had frozen the image with the glint visible in the left part of the frame. "Can you enlarge that enough to see if it's part of the gun?"

Angela did her magic – not a term Brennan would appreciate, but he rather thought the artist would – and a moment later, a blurry image that might have been the barrel of a gun was revealed.

"That, plus the range and capability of the gun might be enough to get me a model number" she said. "I'll look into it."

* * *

><p>Entering the restaurant, Brennan saw Richard before he saw her, and paused to study him. His brown hair was sun-streaked nearly blond. but it suited his tanned skin. He was dressed casually in jeans, an open-necked shirt and sports jacket, and appeared relaxed as he checked something on his phone. Apparently nothing too engrossing though, because he seemed to sense her presence. He lifted his head, looked directly at her, and smiled.<p>

By the time she crossed the restaurant, he'd stood and dropped his phone in a pocket. He was tall and lean, though she had reason to know he was well-muscled. He moved to kiss her, and she turned her head so he brushed her cheek instead of her lips.

"Hello, Richard."

"Brennan." The smile had faded when she avoided his kiss, but welcome was still in those green eyes when he said her name. "How are you?"

"I'm well. Busy." She hesitated, chose her words more carefully than was usual for her as she took the seat across from him. "What are you doing here?" There hadn't been any uncertainty to their parting, at least not for her .

The waiter appeared before he could answer, and he waited until the man had taken their order before doing so.

"I missed you," he said simply. Before she could speak, he reached out, touched her hand. "I know what you said when I left the islands, and I respect that. But when I realized I was needed in New York, I had to take the opportunity. People change, and I was hoping you'd change your mind. We were good together."

"Richard—"

He interrupted her. "We fit in a way I've never known before. Most of my relationships end when I leave for another dig," he admitted. "But even if we weren't working the same project, we would understand those separations. We don't have truly permanent lives, you and I. We don't need them. Oh, I've got Stanford and you've got the Jeffersonian, but we come and go as we need to – you were gone for a year this time. So why not try to find a way to merge those lives, at least part of the time?"

_Because I think I want a permanent life_, she almost said, and couldn't quite do so. "All organisms evolve," she said instead, and thought of something Cam had once said to her.

"But I'm not evolving in the direction you apparently thought and hoped."

He leaned back, studied her. "You were happy in Maluku."

"I was …satisfied much of the time," she corrected. "Including when we were together.

I'm proud of the work I did there. We didn't discover what we hoped to, but we accomplished what we set out to do."

He smiled at her, acknowledging the pleasure of knowledge gained, and she gave him a brief smile back before sobering again. "But I find I derive a greater sense of satisfaction from apprehending murderers than anything else. I'll still go on digs, will still consult. But what being away for a year taught me was that what once completely satisfied me no longer does."

Richard nodded slowly. "And if I sought a teaching position here?"

Brennan shook her head. "It's not the distance or time apart. It never was."

"I thought so. I had to ask, though. I just wanted another chance with you. With us."

She thought of Booth. "I understand."

B&B

Brennan walked into Angela's office the next morning. "You have something to show me?"

Angela nodded, and reached for her control pad. "After you left with Booth yesterday, I worked with Cam and Arastoo on reconstructing the scene. She flicked the pad, and a stylized image of Matt Foster appeared. Another human image appeared behind him.

"We know he was knocked out prior to being tied to the cage."

The second image struck Matt in the back of the head with a baseball bat.

"You've confirmed it was a bat?"

"Yeah. Right size, right shape, and Arastoo found particulates in the bone that Hodgins says is consistent with the finish used on bats."

On the screen, Matt's body slumped to the floor. Angela touched the controls again, and

the scene reformed to show him secured to the cage.

"The pitching machine was set on a random pattern but doesn't keep a record of what kind of pitches it threw in what order. A fastball to start would have struck here on his chest," she said as an image appeared of a ball hitting the victim. "But a curveball would more likely have struck here, a hair off where the fastball hit." A second ball hit the torso. If the storm was starting, wind might have been a factor as well on where the balls struck. But either way, within moments, ribs three through five would have been broken here, here, and here." The image changed to a depiction of the skeleton, showing the breaks as Angela referenced them. "Additional strikes would have driven either ribs four or five into the heart."

Cam stepped into the room. "There is evidence of the pericardial sac being lacerated."

One of Angela's other computers beeped, and she stepped over to look at it.

Brennan glanced at Cam, then turned back to the monitor, now frozen on the image of a ball striking a fractured rib poised to drive it into the heart. "We know cause of death if it was the pitching machine. The question is whether the skull fracture was significant enough to have already killed him."

"That's the way I see it," Cam said. "There was some swelling and evidence of a subdural hematoma, but it wasn't particularly large yet. While it might have killed him eventually, there's no ambivalence about the injury to the heart. There's also something else. Hodgins examined the restraints. While most of the blood is the victim's type A, there's a small amount of type O. I ran the DNA and there aren't any matches in the database…but it's female."

"I'll call Booth and let him know." She looked back at the image frozen on the monitor.

"I suspect his gut will not be surprised by the female DNA, but we need something that ties her to the scene in order to get a DNA sample. Wanting the victim out of the way isn't a crime."

"Ask Booth if this will do." Angela said. She walked back to them as she made some adjustments on her control pad, and the reconstruction fell away, was replaced by security camera footage. "Booth asked me to search the footage from the country club camera for the past month for any evidence that Amy Chamberlin or Tyler Ridge were ever there. It just found Amy. This was time stamped three weeks ago." She made another adjustment, and they saw Amy walking with Matt to the batting cage. He was speaking to her, but she seemed more interested in her surroundings, and paid particularly close attention to the security camera pointed toward the cage.

B&B

Booth and Brennan stood in the observation room watching Amy. "I couldn't get a court order for DNA, not on what we have," Booth said. "Looking at a security camera isn't illegal. But I've got a few questions for her." His phone rang, and he answered it as they started toward the interrogation room. "Yeah, Charlie. What do you have for me?" He listened for a moment, and then said, "That will do. Go ahead and bring him in, will you? Thanks." He pocketed his phone and looked at Brennan, a satisfied look on his face. "Got another piece of the puzzle, Bones."

"What? What did Charlie say?"

"He's been looking into Tyler for me. You'll never guess where he works." He wiped the smirk from his face as he led the way into the interrogation room.

"Amy, thank you for coming in." he said, dropping the folder he carried on the table. "There are a few things we need for you to clear up."

She nodded. "I know how I sounded when you stopped by the house, but we all grew up together. Logan and Matt were friends when they were little. I'll help however I can."

"What about you?" Brennan asked. "Were you and Matt friends?"

Amy shrugged. "Not really. He's the same age as Logan – two years younger than me. That makes a difference."

"Huh," Booth said. "Not as much as I might have thought, apparently." He opened the folder, slid out the photo of her looking up at the security camera. "You're not a member of the country club, and Matt didn't sign you in as a guest."

Amy stared down at the photo for a long moment. "Oh, that," she finally said. Reading people wasn't Brennan's strength but even she identified the uncertainty in her voice.

"Matt was always hitting on me."

"So you decided to let him catch you?" Booth asked.

"I wanted to see the pitching machine. See how much of an advantage it was giving him."

"And instead, you started thinking about how easy it would be to kill someone with it?"

"No." She shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. He just wasn't paying attention or something and was hit by accident."

Booth leaned back in his chair and studied her for a moment before shifting again, all sign of relaxed cooperation suddenly gone. "No, someone, or someones, rather, was very deliberate about this. Let me tell you what we have, Amy. We have proof that the person who strapped Matt to the cage was female, because she cut herself on sharp piece of the cage while doing so." He looked down at her bandaged thumb. "We're assuming a lone female would have a difficult time getting him positioned the way he was and thus probably had help. Probably this other person hit Matt in the back of the head with a baseball bat to knock him out."

Amy had paled as he spoke, but valiantly touched the bandage. "I cut my thumb while cooking." She looked at Brennan. "You saw that."

Brennan cocked her head. "Your memory is faulty. I saw you chopping carrots and observed that you shouldn't do so while angry. The thumb was already bandaged."

"Shall I continue?" Booth asked. "Someone at the scene fired a paintball gun at the camera – you know, the one you were so interested in." He tapped the photo on the table.

"And guess what? In an amazing coincidence, Tyler works at a paintball arena. They tell us he's a very good shot."

Amy scowled. "You said it yourself. It's a coincidence. Lots of people play paintball, and some are better shots than Tyler."

"I guess we'll find out, won't we? He's being brought in right now," Booth said. "And I have to tell you, Amy, he didn't strike me as being the kind who's going to hold the line in an interrogation. How loyal is he?"

"I want a lawyer."

"Imagine that," Booth said. He stood up, and Brennan did as well. "Of course, by the time we get a lawyer for you, we'll have talked to Tyler. And he'll want to tell us the truth."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm guessing he's going to fall all over himself explaining how it was all your idea, that he only helped you position Matt, after he took out the security camera."

"I didn't kill Matt. The pitching machine did," Amy blurted. "And Tyler was the one who hit him in the head with the bat."

"You really believe that, don't you?" Brennan asked, genuinely curious. "That the machine did it?"

"I didn't hit him." She grabbed the photo of her looking up at the camera and shoved it at them. "Damn it. I just wanted to give my brother a chance at his dream. Playing ball is all he's talked about his whole life. He's my baby brother," she said, and started to cry.

* * *

><p>Booth sipped his beer and reminded himself that they'd closed the case. But some of their post-case celebratory drinks felt more, well, celebratory than others. While he was glad to have the confessions, it was hard not to feel a bit melancholy at the thought of a promising young life wasted.<p>

"So we found the car, bat, and cell phone?" Brennan asked.

"Right where Amy said they'd be. For a bright girl, she's not terribly smart."

"And you were right about Tyler being eager to talk."

"Amy was leading him around by the nose." Booth grimaced. "Or another body part entirely is probably more accurate. Either way, he was in over his head and all too eager to swim for the surface, especially with his prints on the bat. Amy's prints aren't on the pitching machine, by the way. She must have wiped them off. But it's her blood on the restraints, and her prints were on the cell phone."

They fell silent, and after a moment, Booth turned his head slightly, so he could watch his partner out of the corner of his eye. Brennan was now tapping the side of her wine glass, a thoughtful look on her face. He was pretty sure her mood wasn't case related, though.

"How did your date with Richard go?"

The thoughtful look turned into a frown. "It wasn't a date, precisely."

A breath he'd not known he was holding eased out. "Oh?"

She looked at him, then back at her wine. "We had a relationship in Indonesia," she said.

"It was different than it's ever been before for me. He and I …fit together very well. It was simpler than I expected it to be, and satisfying." She looked up at him again, her expression for once unreadable to him. "Being in that sort of relationship was easier than I anticipated, and all indications are that I was more successful in the endeavor than I would have expected to be."

"I hear a 'but,' Bones," he said.

She turned back to her wine, and didn't speak for a long while. When she finally did look at him again, her expression was now anxious, and vulnerable. "But I woke up one morning, a few days before Richard was to fly out, and realized that everything I was doing with him, not just sexually, but the relationship…" She swallowed and took a sip of her wine before continuing. "I wanted to be doing with…someone else."

A number of emotions, many he couldn't begin to name, rushed through him all at once. Easily recognizable at first was amusement at the fact that the two of them could be so much alike in the strangest and most comforting ways. The most prevalent, however, was that innate protectiveness, the desire to reassure her above anything else. "I uh," he cleared his throat, "I had a relationship in Afghanistan."

Brennan looked up, and he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. "With an embedded journalist… She and I, we fit the same way you and Richard did." He rubbed his beer bottle between his palms and took another sip before continuing. "Her name was Hannah. She was fun, and dedicated, in her own way, to justice… She was adventurous." Remembering, he gave a small laugh. "For a few months, it was enough." He looked at Brennan, and sobered. "And then one morning, I woke up and realized that I still wanted more, and not with her."

For a beat, they simply stared at one another, smiles gradually creeping onto their faces.

"It seems as if we both met other people we were happy with, if only for a time," Brennan finally said.

Booth nodded, then shifted to face her more fully. "But it wasn't enough, at least for me."

Brennan shook her head. "Nor for me."

"I mean, it would have been easy to stay with Hannah," he said, wondering if she'd understand, hoping she did. "Simpler. I think we could have had a good life."

"Less complicated," Brennan supplied. "That was what I kept thinking about Richard." She sipped her wine, then met his gaze again. "And it is possible I won't be as successful in a relationship that's more …complicated…One that requires more effort but I'm inclined to think that I'll regret not putting forth the effort to find out. " She paused, hoping he understood her implication.

He smiled, and touched the back of her hand with his finger, letting her know he understood her subtext. "That is an excellent inclination, Bones. You know, the things we work the hardest for are usually the ones we appreciate the most." He saw her begin to speak and quickly continued, "And sometimes it takes longer than we think it should, a million things get in the way. But that work? That work we put in, is always worth it."

Brennan smiled and surprised him when she said, "I agree, it takes time."

He laughed lightly, marveling at the fact that she could still surprise him, "Sounds like we both want a complicated life."

She leaned toward him a bit. "It does."

He clinked his bottle against her wine glass. "To a complicated life."

Brennan returned his toast, and smiled in a way that lit up her eyes and caused his grin to deepen. "To a complicated life."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us next week when Booth and Brennan investigate a woman's tragic murder and find that nothing is what it seems in a love triangle gone wrong in The Hazard in the Safe Haven by TravelingSue.<strong>_


	5. The Hazard in the Safe Haven

6.5 x 05 The Hazard in the Safe Haven~ Written by TravelingSue 

As the mid-day sun beat down on the shade-free expanse of road in front of the old cemetery, Sam, a large, brawny man in blue coveralls called out to his underling, "Murphy, get the hell over here." He leaned on his shovel and retrieved his handkerchief, automatically wiping away the sweat and road dust already clinging to his face. After a moment, he pushed his handkerchief back into his pocket.

Shifting slowly, his gray eyes lifted as he watched Murphy, his best laborer, grab a shovel and make his way towards him. Watching the young man as he loped easily across the uneven ground, Sam had to bite back a laugh. A grin curled his lips when he thought of the number of propositions Murphy seemed to have to fend off on a daily basis. Never a dull day with Murphy around, he thought to himself as he shook his head. The kid looked like a mess at the end of each work day but it never seemed to have a negative impact on the female attention he received. He'd watch, fascinated day after day, as Murphy ignored each and every shameless advance. But Sam knew Murphy was totally consumed by the love of his life, and a man couldn't fake a love like that. The kid wasn't jaded enough to know how to hide it, and it was more than obvious that every word, every action was for her. "_Good kid"_, he thought, then amended quickly, _"Good Man"_.

As he scanned the road, Sam's thoughts redirected themselves to the job at hand. His company was charged with the delicate task of widening the road that led past St. Mary's Cemetery. As he glanced at the sign, he flushed with embarrassment, realizing he'd just cursed and thought, "_Helen's gonna give me hell tonight."_

As Murphy joined him, he motioned toward the pile of rubble mounded near the side of road they were widening. The contract required they install sidewalks as well as repave the road, so even soil close to the cemetery needed to be excavated.

Sam pushed his spade into the soil and said, "Damn good thing this contract came up." Then he added more to himself, "At least we'll have work for a couple more weeks."

Murphy looked up sharply then asked concerned, "Sam, business that bad?"

Sam shook his head and replied, "Not that bad, we're still in the black for now, but jobs are harder to come by lately."

Murphy looked concerned, his thoughts moved quickly to his wife and new baby. As he dug into the rocky soil with his shovel he said quietly, "Hope you won't have to layoff anyone."

Sam pushed his shovel into the earth not saying a word, knowing he couldn't provide any guarantees. But he did know Murphy would be the last to go. The kid was that good, that dependable. Focusing back on the rubble, he pushed the shovel deep into the soil near the base of a large angel statue near the cemetery's entrance. It struck something hard, most probably a rock or even part of the statue's anchor, he thought. He moved to leverage the shovel under it as he reassured the kid, "No, it's not that bad yet. Don't worry about it, we'll be fine."

He pried the shovel tip under what he now knew was an errant rock and heard a slight grinding. He lifted the shovel eye-level, and the sudden realization of what he was staring at made him drop everything and jump back in shock.

"What the hell?" Sam shouted as he pointed at the skull. He watched it rock drunkenly until it stopped, facing him, making the hair rise on the back of his neck as the empty eye sockets seem to meet his.

Murphy saw what Sam had uncovered and quickly echoed, "Oh shit!"

B&B

"Booth, could you come over here please?" Brennan barely looked up from where she was leaning over the remains, her body encased in her standard Jeffersonian jump suit.

Booth, only a few steps away interviewing the construction crew, glanced up and caught her eye as he nodded, silently letting her know he'd join her in a minute. He gestured to the work crew's foreman. "Crime scene is off limits."

Sam, thinking of the income lost, turned worried eyes to the agent. "Sir, is there any way we can continue working the job?"

Booth looked at the man, knowing from the initial interview that this was the only job his crew had and it would hurt them financially. He waved to a passing agent and instructed him to begin roping off sections of the recovery area. "Yeah, just keep a perimeter of 30 meters clear. I'll have the FBI techs rope off the scene and as long as you stay outside the markers and out from underfoot, you can continue working."

Sam put out his hand and shook Booth's firmly, "Thanks, we really appreciate it. Times are a little tough right now," he said quietly.

Booth nodded. "I've got everything I need, but you may want to give the crew a break for half an hour or so and we'll be gone completely in a few hours."

Sam nodded his agreement and turned back to his men.

Booth turned away and walked towards Brennan, glancing at the excavated site. The bones nearly glowed, lit from the mid-day sun. He looked at the remains and quickly noted how small they were.

He focused, note cards in hand at the ready to take Brennan's initial assessment. "Okay, Bones. What have we got?"

Brennan glanced up; her sunglasses perched on her nose as she squinted up to meet his eyes. Seeing her furrowed brow, he squatted down next to her as she nodded her thanks and began.

"Female, early thirties based on basic bone markers, pelvic bone indicates she's never given birth, approximately 152 centimeters." She gestured with her hand extended pointing towards a portion of the exposed ribcage, "It appears that she's been shot, but I'll need the body and soil samples transported to the lab to confirm when and where."

Booth looked up from his notes and asked, "Anything else?"

"Based on the level of decomposition, I'd say the victim was buried at least a year ago," she added, "possibly longer."

She stretched her back as she stood, then inclining her head towards the cemetery she asked, "Can you ascertain any specific meaning from the burial site?"

Booth looked towards the quiet cemetery, taking in the headstones just visible over the rise of the hill as well as the simple but oddly beautiful divine visage under which the remains had been discovered. "I thought you didn't like conjecture, Bones." He fought his amusement at her scowl with raised hands in defense. "I'm just saying…it's too early to take anything from the scenario. And far be it from me to guess."

"Because we don't guess." Brennan nodded solemnly. "You're learning."

Giving up all pretenses, Booth let the smile cross his face. "Gee, thanks, Bones." He turned and waved at the agents and techs behind him. "You heard the lady, get all of this to the Jeffersonian!"

* * *

><p>Brennan swiped her card through the secure access card reader and quickly joined Cam, Wendell and Hodgins as they converged over the remains which had been arranged on one of the stainless steel examination tables. The body was completely stripped of flesh, resting starkly white on the polished surface. She grabbed a set of latex gloves, snapping them on as she turned to Wendell and asked, "Mr. Bray, what are your findings?"<p>

"It appears," using the webcam microscope, he focused over the sternum and pointed to the screen nearby and completed his thought, "The victim was shot once at point blank range".

Brennan nodded and asked, "Have you determined the caliber of the weapon, Mr. Bray?"

"It appears to be a .38, Dr. Brennan," Wendell replied confidently. Brennan glanced down and saw the reason for Wendell's confidence; the damage to the posterior sixth rib confirmed his claim.

Cam added as she pointed to the abrasions on several ribs, "Considering none of the soil samples provided turned up a bullet, and the fact that the damage doesn't indicate and through and through, I'd say the bullet was removed from the body."

Brennan automatically reached to feel the damaged rib with her gloved hand. Her sensitive fingers felt the rough kerf marks most likely left behind by a knife and nodded, "Cam, I agree the killer was aware enough to remove the evidence."

Brennan was, as always, so focused on the task at hand she never noticed that Angela had joined them on the platform. The artist greeted the group then turned to Cam with concern. "At least you won't need to autopsy this one, Cam. You looked a little green last time."

Cam remembered with a shudder and replied, "No mentholated ointment needed for this one, thankfully." With a sigh, she shifted her weight to ease the discomfort in her back and added, "Paul is seriously upset with me. He doesn't like my working around the remains if they make my stomach jumpy. He's taking this whole fatherhood thing to a new extreme. He's already started baby-proofing." Despite her tone, Cam affected a wistful look, absently rubbing her rounded belly.

Hodgins noticed his sensible boss's distraction and glanced at Angela, wondering what she was thinking, and turned in time to see his wife's eyes soften in response. It was another of those times where their closeness was almost palpable, despite his persistent feeling that she was drifting away from him.

With an effort, Hodgins pushed the melancholy from his mind, shaking his head. "Cam, leave the poor man alone. He's in love with you, and you know how crazy that makes us all."

With an exasperated sigh, Cam retorted sharply, "Well considering I'm a medical doctor as well, he should trust me to do right by our baby."

Brennan still focused on the remains, asked with a slightly concerned expression crinkling her brow, "Does he not trust your judgment?"

Cam glanced over at Brennan, taken aback slightly, "No, no, he does. He's just being an overprotective father. He drops the rational medical professional at the door when we're alone."

Brennan met Cam's eyes in confusion. "How does he do that? Separate himself from his profession, I mean."

Cam glanced at Angela looking for guidance and Angela sighed in resignation. "Bren, Cam just means that his priority is Cam and the baby." Their eyes met and she added, "Rational thinking kind of leaves the room when you're considering what is best for the people you love."

Brennan nodded, mentally deciding to discuss this finer point with Booth. She refocused on the remains briefly, then pointed to the bones of the wrist and asked, "Mr. Bray, I see micro-fractures of the hamate, scaphoid and trapezium, all defensive in nature."

Cam glad to have the conversation move back to the victim also pointed to the base on the victims on femur and added, "Mr. Bray could you extract this titanium screw at the base on the femur as well." She glanced up and added, "The screw should have a serial number, and we should have the victim's identity today."

Brennan smiled at Cam, "Excellent, Booth will be pleased." Her eyes continued their examination of the bones, her brow crinkled with concentration as she catalogued.

"It appears she's had several breaks that have healed over an extended period along her rib cage and sternum as well as the scapula." She glanced up sharply, her mouth tightened as she added in a voice tinged with restrained anger, "This victim had been abused over a period of several years."

Angela sighed sadly. "Poor thing, she lived and died so violently."

Brennan shook her head. "Mr. Bray, let's get these bones into the bone room. We need to map all the injuries so that Angela can provide us a scenario of how of each took place." She added, though it was unnecessary, "Please extract the titanium screw first, that would be the priority." Seeing Wendell's nod of assent, she quickly removed her gloves and walked off in the direction of her office.

Angela took one more sad look before turning to head towards her own office. As an afterthought, she stopped next to Wendell, placing a hand on his arm. "Just let me know when you're ready with the injuries. I'll be waiting for you in my office." She then walked off without a word to anyone else.

Hodgins stared at her retreating form for a moment, turning over in his head the reasons why his wife would pointedly ignore him, barely able to look him in the eye, while making a point of reaching out to Wendell physically. He knew nothing was going on between Angela and Wendell, and he trusted them implicitly, but he still couldn't shake this feeling that Angela was unhappy with him and their marriage and he was at a total loss as to why.

B&B

A knock on her door brought Cam out of her work, and she smiled as Paul entered the office and bent close to brush her cheek with a kiss. "Hi there, you ready for lunch?" She asked.

Paul laughed as an eager expression crossed Cam's face, the thought of the impending meal obviously making her practically giddy. "Absolutely. Let's get the two of you fed." He watched as Cam shut down her computer and collected her light jacket before turning to him eagerly. "So, how are you feeling today?"

Cam's eyes sparkled as she answered him, "Well, _we_ are in the mood for a chef salad. With extra ranch dressing and hard-boiled eggs. You?"

Paul's eyes caressed her face then leaned into kiss her lips lingeringly. "Is it strange that I find your baby-induced food excitement completely adorable?"

Fighting an eye-roll, Cam looped her arm through Paul's as he led her out of the office and through the lab. "I have never been a huge fan of being called 'adorable'." She ignored her boyfriend's amused snort as she continued. "However…this baby is making me into a big softy lately, so I am prepared to let it slide." At Paul's grin, she raised a finger to his face. "Just this once."

"Fine…fine." Paul chuckled as they reached the sliding glass doors, waiting as several lab employees crossed in front of them. "Sexy, gorgeous, smoking hot…but never adorable. Got it."

"Don't patronize me; I'm so hormonal I could snap at any moment." She reached up and lightly pinched his ear lobe affectionately, allowing him to lead her into the Jeffersonian parking structure. Giving him a solemn look, she touched his face softly. "But thank you."

"You're welcome, Camille." Paul gave her a dazzling smile as he bent to unlock her door and usher her into the car. "Now, let's go get you two some grub."

B&B

Brennan walked into Angela's office having already been informed by Wendell that he had removed the surgical screw from the victim and had delivered it to Angela. Confident that Angela had had adequate time with the evidence to provide an identity; she failed to knock as she entered. As Brennan turned the slight corner into the room where the Angelatron was used, she noticed Angela staring at a framed photograph of her and Hodgins in front of the Eiffel tower, her expression wistful with longing. She interrupted her friend's daydream as she asked, "Missing Paris, Ange?"

Angela turned startled and said with a rueful smile, "Probably more than you know." She stared back at Brennan, knowing that her friend cared but didn't have the words to express her concern. It was one of those times that Angela appreciated Brennan's awkwardness; it came in handy when you wanted to avoid painful conversations. Then, as though she just realized she had relevant information to the case, Angela quickly hit a few keys on her computer pad. A beautiful woman appeared on the virtual screen, her face surrounded by a Missing Person's logo complete with contact information.

Letting Angela's obvious and abrupt subject change slide for the time being, Brennan's eyes focused on the image before her of a slight blonde woman with an impish smile.

"Is this the victim?"

"Yes, I ran a scan to see if there was any information on her once I got her name from the screw." She paused then added, "She was reported missing 18 months ago by her husband. It states here the last time he saw her was at their place of business, a Duffy's Irish Pub."

"Does Booth know?"

"Not yet, do you want me to send this over?" Angela asked.

"Yes, but make sure to notify Cam at the same time, "she turned to leave and said, "I'll call Booth, I'm sure he'll want to notify the next of kin as soon as possible."

Brennan glanced at the screen and read, "Rick Henley." Her mouth tightened slightly as she asked, almost to herself, the question Angela had avoided, "I wonder if he abused her?"

Turning abruptly without waiting for a response from Angela, she left the room and quickly made a call to Booth. She provided him with Angela's information, and then asked, "Will you be picking me up before you speak with the husband?"

"Of course. You're my partner, aren't you?" Booth asked, surprised at her question.

Brennan smiled, pleased by how they had been getting back to their old routines with almost no trouble. She had wondered if their recent revelations about the lives they wanted would make things awkward, but to her surprise it had only made them more comfortable with each other. It was almost as if they had removed an invisible barrier that had been looming over them since that night in front of the Hoover building almost two years ago, and the relief Brennan felt at that fact was immeasurable. She turned her attention back to the man waiting for her on the phone. "Give me a call when you get to the lab. I'll meet you out by the front entrance."

"Will do, Bones. See ya in twenty." Booth agreed before disconnecting.

Brennan went to her office and quickly picked up her bag, then decided she could use a few minutes of fresh air. Instead of heading for the front doors, she walked out the lab's side entrance and into the majestic gardens of the Jeffersonian.

As she took notice of the new rose buds struggling to bloom, she thought of her time in Maluku. The project may have not impacted the scientific world as she had hoped, but it had impacted _her_. While away, she realized that clinging to the more rational, scientific aspects of the world in an effort to shield herself from pain and confusion was no longer the right course of action. Science, for the first time in her life, had failed her all those months ago, something that she desperately sought to change.

She was changing, slowly in small increments but it was happening and she surprisingly didn't fear those changes. Smiling to herself, Brennan checked her watch and walked hurriedly through the meticulously-tended flower beds, heading for the steps at the front of the museum where Booth was waiting for her.

* * *

><p>Booth opened the door to Duffy's Irish Pub, standing to the side to allow Brennan to enter first. She nodded, accepting the gesture, knowing it was just Booth's ingrained need to be the gentleman. He'd have done it with anyone, and it actually had nothing to do with her ability to open a door for herself.<p>

Behind the counter, the bartender said sociably, "Sorry folks, we're not open for another few hours."

Booth withdrew his badge and flashed it, "FBI, we'd like to speak to a Mr. Rick Henley?"

The man's eyes widened, and then visibly swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, "You found her?"

"Are you Rick Henley?" Booth asked making sure he knew who he was speaking to.

"Yeah sure, I'm Rick. Did you find Amanda?" he asked, his voice tight with strain.

"Mr. Henley, I'm sorry to inform you that your wife's body was found just outside St. Mary's Cemetery."

Booth watched as the man stiffened. His shoulders squared and his face locked down into what could only be described as 'standing at attention'. At that moment, Booth was positive he was speaking to a former soldier. The stoic look, the command of his body, was a dead giveaway. Rick sagged against the counter, pain and disappointment etched in his features. Booth looked closely at the man's face as a flicker of guilt passed through his eyes, serving to add to his suspicions. Remembering Brennan's assessment that Amanda had been abused, he knew that in these situations, the culprit was nearly always the husband.

Brennan stood next to Booth calmly as she watched Rick's reaction as well. She saw emotions flicker in his eyes, but they were so brief she couldn't describe them. She had noted upon announcing their official roles how Rick had become agitated, and she also surmised he had a military background, his body language clear even to her on that account. Brennan glanced at Booth, knowing he'd have picked up on that as he was prone to do.

Glancing around the bar while Booth brought Rick up to speed on the investigation, Brennan noticed that the bar itself had a comfortable feel to it. Noting the pub specials and the many beers on tap, she moved quietly around the bar and looked with interest at the various pictures hung on the walls. She spotted several of a younger Rick Henley in a Green Beret uniform, smiling widely towards the camera and hugging Amanda to his side. These were hung in a place of honor surrounded by several photographs obviously taken while Rick had been deployed. Upon closer inspection she thought it might have been in Iraq, but she wouldn't swear to it. Booth would know for sure.

She then returned to Booth's side as he added for Rick's benefit, "I'll expect to see you at 9 AM sharp tomorrow, at this point it's an interview. We need your cooperation if we're going to find out who did this to your wife."

Rick looked hesitant at first, but then straightened his shoulders and added with surety he obviously didn't feel, "Sure, sure I'll be there." Then he stared at Booth intently his voice colored by a barely suppressed anger, "Amanda was my life, though I may not have always shown it." He nodded sharply, his eyes never leaving Booth's face as he added, "I'll help anyway I can."

Booth nearly turned to leave but decided to test the man before him, wanting to gauge his reaction, "It appears that Amanda was the victim of long-term abuse. Can you tell us about that?"

Rick winced, as he stared at the far wall, his voice devoid of emotion, "I can…"

Booth nodded tightly, "In that case, I think it's best that you come in to my office so we can have a chat."

"Do I have time to call one of my managers in? The bar is due to open shortly."

Booth glanced down at his watch and handed Rick a business card with the Hoover's address, "You've got an hour."

Rick nodded solemnly, "I'll be there."

Booth turned to Brennan and asked, "You ready?"

She nodded, and as Booth opened the door to the pub he glanced back and watched as Rick slumped against the bar, hand covering a face filled with agony and guilt. Booth filed the information away as he followed Brennan out of the bar and into the afternoon sunlight.

Once they were back in the car and on the way to the lab, Booth decided to test Brennan's seemingly newfound insight into human behavior. "So, Bones…what did you make of Rick?" He gave her a quick smile of encouragement. Brennan bit down softly on her bottom lip as she assembled her thoughts. Booth had to hold back a groan at the picture she made, though anyone watching him carefully would have noted the tightening of his jaw.

Completely unaware of his reaction to her innocent mulling, she answered him after a moment, "He appeared shocked. But I have no way of knowing if it was because Amanda was found after such a long time or because she'd been murdered."

Booth nodded in agreement. Having his own thoughts on it, he encouraged her to continue and asked, "What else?"

Toying with her phone she looked up at Booth's profile and replied, "He had a military background and Amanda had been with him a long time."

"You picked that up in the interview?"

Brennan shook her head, "No, I was looking at the photographs around the bar. There was several of him in uniform," she paused then added, "Rick in his army uniform with Amanda. There were several photographs displayed quite proudly." She added as though cataloging, "They looked to be at least 10 years younger and quite happy."

Booth smiled then nodded. "Yeah, it looks like they had a long history." He glanced over at her and asked, "Anything else get your attention?"

"I noticed you picked up on his military training nearly immediately."

Booth laughed a bit in surprise and asked, "Really, you saw that?"

"I noticed your demeanor changed as well. You carry yourself differently when you encounter a fellow soldier." She asked curiously, "Was it his stance that tipped you off?"

"Yeah, definitely. Former military always come off the same way."

"I imagine it's innate when an authority figure is presented," Brennan surmised.

Booth laughed, "You're getting better at this, Bones. A couple more months and I'll have you making assumptions and jumping to conclusions."

She rolled her eyes, "That's highly doubtful."

"Nah, you just wait and see…" He placed his thumb in his teeth and thought about the man they had just spoken with. "I think they had problems, major ones. Were there pictures from the time period after he left the service?"

Brennan nodded slowly as she answered, "Yes, there appeared to be several. My impression is that their marital troubles started after he was discharged."

"Why do you think that?"

"Her expression…" She glanced over at him with uncertainty.

Booth reached out and nudged her arm, "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Well, her features were quite tight even though she was smiling in the photographs. The smile was so different from the earlier photographs, no longer carefree but more careful," Brennan explained.

Booth nodded and quietly considered his partner's thoughts on the case as he kept his eyes focused on the road.

When he failed to respond to her last statement, Brennan shrugged and sighed, "This part of the case, what you refer to as your 'stuff' is not my strong suit; you know that."

"Hey, come on Bones. You're using your judgment, which is always good with me. I know you wouldn't have put it out there at all unless you thought it was true," Booth added quietly.

Brennan smiled slightly as her face flushed, pleased in Booth's trust. Trying to deflect, she asked, "What did you think? What is your gut telling you?"

Booth shrugged, "My all too unscientific gut tells me he didn't kill her, but I don't think he is completely innocent either."

Brennan looked surprised that Booth had already come to that conclusion and said quickly, "Booth, you know statistically he's the most likely suspect. I'm working on an assumption based on the evidence already presented, I believe he abused her. And if that is true, he is the most likely suspect." She sighed, and then continued, "What did you see?"

Booth frowned, "Like I said, I think he's guilty of abuse. I got all kinds of vibes of guilt off of him. But when I told him his wife was dead, there was real pain there. I don't think he could have faked it, it was too unguarded. And believe it or not, I saw real love there as well."

"Regardless of how many times we encounter a situation like this it always perplexes me. How can someone claim to love another that much and still try to hurt them?" She asked, clearly frustrated.

Booth's thoughts slid sidewise, his thoughts flashing back to his own father for a brief moment. Pushing that aside, he glanced at Brennan. "We all do things that hurt the ones we love, it's human nature. To the extent Rick may have hurt Amanda? No, not usually. And almost never physically. But the possibility is always there. We can control it, for the most part…most of us, anyway." He ran his hand across his jaw, "Outside circumstances, while never an excuse, can push us to do things that we know are wrong. And maybe, whatever happened to Rick while he was over there broke something in him. I've seen it happen plenty of times, a good man can lose that tightly held control that otherwise would have prevented him from laying a hand on his wife." His fists clenched on the steering wheel as he finished, a sudden tiredness crossing his features.

Brennan reached over and touched Booth's arm, lightly rubbing the tightness away. She was better at reading his emotions than anyone, and he marveled, not for the first time, at how much she underestimated herself in that area. And it made him wonder if she could always see the feelings and emotions that he tried so hard to hide from the rest of the world.

Booth smiled in response, the tightness in his chest lifted by her simple touch. He nodded at her un-verbalized question, as he pulled into the Jeffersonian's main entrance.

* * *

><p>Agent Turner walked into Booth's office shortly after he returned, carrying a thick manila folder. Booth nodded in recognition and leaned back in his chair. "What have you got for me, Turner?"<p>

She took the seat across from her boss's desk, and then casually flipped her blonde hair back before concentrating on the file in front of her. "There is a history of abuse, as Dr. Brennan suspected."

Booth grinned, "Turner, the sooner you figure out that Dr. Brennan suspects nothing without proof the easier your life will be."

Turner met his eyes briefly, she knew she was damn lucky to be part of Booth's team, but her training was so ingrained that it couldn't be ignored. "Well, I prefer to have the proof in front of me before I take anyone else's word for it, sir."

"Well then, tell me this, Turner," he paused, his eyes serious as they met hers, "How you can take stock in Sweets' profile without a second thought?"

He smirked as he watched the tell tale blush work up her neck, slowly covering her cheeks.

"Ah…well…" she stammered and then cleared her throat and added clearly, "Dr. Sweets is a scientist as well and he has a proven track record as a profiler, as you already know." Straightening her shoulders she asked, "So, why shouldn't I take the word of one of the FBI's most successful profiler's as gospel?"

"So, you believe Sweets but you don't believe Dr. Brennan. That's pretty hypocritical of you, don't you think?" Booth asked quirking a brow, amused, as he wondered if she'd take the bait.

Turner knew she was caught, as just like Sweets', Dr. Brennan's record was unassailable. She shrugged self-deprecatingly and fixed a tight smile across her lips. "You are correct, my personal relationship with Dr. Sweets makes me a tad biased about his abilities and I'm sure that it's the same for you and Dr. Brennan. I apologize." When she saw his jaw tighten, she added with a laugh, "Do you want my report or would you like Dr. Brennan to tell you?"

Booth grinned, Turner was a good agent but her smart mouth was going to get her into trouble if he didn't put a lid on it soon. "I'll take the report from you, and maybe I won't write you up for insubordination."

The flush in her cheeks was back, Booth noted with satisfaction. Looking down at her notes for a moment, Turner shook her head. "My apologies, sir. Won't happen again." Booth waved his hand, urging her to get to the file. With a deferential nod, she began. "Rick Henley was brought up on spousal abuse charges five times in a period of four years prior to the victim's death." Running down her list, she added, "But the incidents stopped a year before her death."

Booth sighed, already having known that would be the case. "Why do you think the calls stopped?"

Turner looked back to her notes and answered, "It appears she took out a restraining order on him a year prior. At the time of last incident, she had a different residence from her husband."

"That makes sense, she would have moved out by then," He looked up for a moment, thinking. "Well, right now Rick is definitely looking more and more guilty." He stood and looked out the window and added, "Do you have anything on his service record?"

"Uh yeah," she glanced down to the file in her lap, "he was discharged honorably, but most of his records are classified – I was told it was a 'need-to-know' type situation."

Booth turned back to her, "That's code for he was into some serious shit." He added, "I'll see what I can dig up, I've got a few friends at the Pentagon. I'll make some calls." He sat back down at his desk and picked up his office phone.

Turner knew that last sentence was dismissal but hesitated. He put down the receiver he'd just picked up and asked, "Turner you got something you want to share?"

"Yeah, I found a commonality in her complaints that I think is important," Turner added seriously.

"And that is?""The officer called to the scene that filled out nearly all the arrest paper work was the same guy," glancing back down at her notes, she added, "a Detective Matt Williams."

"Great, call him in. He might be able to give us more than what the official reports have provided."He dismissed her with a look she'd come to recognize and she rose to leave, hesitating again in the door way. "Is there anything else?"

"Keep looking over the reports for commonalities and pull any hospital reports too," Booth added, his eyes already scanning his directory of contacts. "And get that interview with Detective Williams set up as soon as possible. Also, give Sweets a call. I may need a profile on this."

"You got it," she left and as she closed the door she heard Booth speak to the caller, "Hey Mack, I need a favor."

B&B

While Brennan had been out with Booth, Wendell had been going over the bones with meticulous detail, carefully mapping the age and extent of the injuries inflicted on Amanda Henley. He stepped back for a moment and looked at the small frame and shook his head. He wondered what this woman could possibly have done to deserve this sort of abuse. Lifting a femur he saw it had been broken in two places and had healed approximated three years earlier. Picking up his clip board, he added it to the many injuries he had already catalogued.

He heard the sound of footsteps and recognized them without turning. He knew the sound of Dr. Brennan's approach nearly as well as his own mother's. At times, he was still amazed she'd selected him as her intern. He'd always be grateful that she'd selected him as part of her rotation; -no one was more respected in their field.

Brennan stepped into the room and asked, briskly and businesslike, "Mr. Bray, what have you found?"

Wendell looked up and smiled at his mentor then began his report. "Based on the evidence and corroborated with the information Agent Turner provided, it appears the victim was abused for a period of about three years. She suffered twelve complete breaks over that time period, though it appears there were four separate incidents where multiple breaks were received." Wendell paused as he watched Dr. Brennan reviewing his conclusions.

He asked curious, "Do you think her husband abused her and then killed her?"

Brennan's eyes met his and shook her head adding, "Our job is not to hypothesize, Mr. Bray. Ours is to give Booth the facts and, if possible, the scenarios that fit those facts." Her gazed sharpened as she added tartly, "I would think after all this time you'd have stopped with any conjecture on cases you are presented."

Ruefully, Wendell scratched his neck, embarrassed by the lapse as he stammered, "Yes, of course. Sorry Dr. B. I must have been hanging out with Sweets and Turner too much lately."

Confused, Brennan asked, "You're spending time with Dr. Sweets and Agent Turner?"

"Yeah, a bit. We usually end up getting a beer after a case. Just, you know unwinding?" Wendell replied, somewhat defensively.

Brennan nodded decisively. "That's good; I've found that having relationships outside of my work enriches my life greatly." Her demeanor softened slightly. "Though I hope that Sweets and Turner's tendency to jump to conclusions doesn't rub off on you. Remember, here at the Jeffersonian, we work with hard science and facts and we leave the soft sciences and conjecture to the FBI." She added firmly, "Is that clear, Mr. Bray?"

Wendell nodded and agreed, "You're absolutely correct. Our biggest contribution is to present the facts," he added, "I won't forget again."

"Excellent, shall we proceed?" Brennan asked.

"Yes, of course, Dr. Brennan." Wendell agreed, presenting each injury in order of occurrence, including timeframe and possible weapon used, until he reached the injury that was fatal. His explanation was stalled by the arrival of Angela, who had been working in tandem with the intern to enter each injury into the Angelator as it was noted.

"As I was saying, Dr. Brennan, the angle of how the bullet entered and the degree of bone damage suggests that the attacker was close. Also, the only other damage that occurred at the same time was the wrist injuries." He looked up, hoping he wasn't overstepping his bounds by adding, "I believe they were defensive, as though he had his hands on both of her wrists." Pointing to the right wrist he added, "This was her dominant hand. Her attacker grabbed it with enough force to create several stress fractures within moments of her death."

Angela spoke up, her eyes alight with righteous anger, "So, she wrestled with her attacker. Can you tell if she was facing him or was it from behind?"

"The attacker was facing her," Brennan answered before Wendell could. Then pointing to the wrist she added, "It appears that they are defensive wounds, it's possible she was wrestling the gun away from her attacker. By the angle of the bullet's entry, the defensive wounds she sustained also point to that as well."

Angela asked, "Do you want me to run a few scenarios?"

"Yes, please. I believe Booth would be interested," she took off her gloves and deposited them in the appropriate bin adding, "I'm meeting Booth shortly for an interview, I'll let him know what we've found so far."

Angela nodded and watched Brennan walk out of the room before turning to Wendell, "Okay, get me everything you can and send it to my mainframe. I'd like the number crunching to be done by tomorrow morning so I have something to present."

Wendell nodded, "You got it." He bent back over the table to complete his notes, instantly oblivious to everything but the work in front of him.

B&B

"Do you have a minute?" Sweets stepped into Booth's office.

The agent watched as Sweets closed the door behind him. Curious he asked, "What's up Sweets?"

"Agent Turner told me you requested my services on your case?" Sweets began.

Booth watched as he fingered the collar of his shirt pulling at it as though it was suddenly too tight. He smirked reading Sweets discomfort quickly, "Something tells me the case isn't why you're here." Deciding to give himself a break he motioned to the chair across from his desk. For once it was nice to be on the other side of those embarrassing questions Sweets liked to throw at him.

Sweets laughed a blush of embarrassment spreading rapidly across his cheeks, "Yeah, you caught me."

"So why are you here?"

Sweets wanted to ask, he needed to ask. He needed advice and of all the people he could ask it felt like Booth was the only one who could really tell him what he needed to know. But as he stared into the amused eyes of the Special Agent he couldn't say the words. Asking would be a risk; the man did not take well to certain suggestions. He had made a mistake once and it cost them all a year and great heartache. His panic got the better of him. "How are things with you and Dr. Brennan?" he blurted out.

Booth's amusement vanished and his smile turned to a scowl. "Why are you asking me that?" he demanded irritably. "We are fine Sweets! Why are you always trying to shrink us?"

Sweets shrugged then replied, "I know, I know," his hands had automatically moved to the back of his neck, he rubbed at the tension that gathered there. He wasn't sure why he had blurted out that question; it was almost as volatile as his true question. He sighed and forced himself to face the answer. He asked because deliberately provoking Booth's ire was better than facing the question that wouldn't let him be. "I'm fine, forget I said anything."

The dark eyes watching him turned skeptical but Booth nodded. If Sweets didn't want to discuss it, whatever it was, he wasn't going to insist. The kid looked all twisted up and his natural instinct kicked in. He changed the subject to something Sweets would find more comforting. "So, Hooch, my new assistant is turning out to be a pretty good agent."

"Yeah?" Sweets asked with a proud smile. "She's top notch, huh?"

"Yep, still trying to figure out why she gives you the time of day," Booth joked.

Sweets tried not to let the teasing get to him; he knew Booth was playing even if it did sting a little. Reminding himself that humor and gruff affection were Booth's preferred avenues for male bonding he moved on to something more pertinent. He cleared his throat, "You wanted a profile?"

Booth nodded and returned to his desk and asked, "Did you receive everything from the Jeffersonian and Turner?"

"Yeah I have a preliminary if you want to hear it?"

Both felt the tension leave the air quickly and asked, "So, what have you got?"

The young profiler leaned forward and began in earnest, "Well based on the information I requested Henley's psych evaluations. I also reviewed the arrest reports and the information you were able to turn up from your Pentagon contacts and it appears that he suffered PTSD. And until his wife left him, it had gone untreated."

He flipped a few pages in his notebook and added, "He'd been in therapy for over a year when Amanda died, his physician felt he had it under control at that point."

"He said that?" Booth asked making sure he was clear on Sweets point.

He nodded and added, "Yeah, Dr. Peterson definitely thought he had made tremendous progress. He could only share basic diagnostics with me. I'll need Henley's permission to get more or a warrant to get his medical records." He looked up and asked, "He's coming in today?"

"Yeah, I've had him stewing in a room for a little bit now." Booth answered and then asked, "You up to an interrogation?"

Sweets smiled as he met Booth's eyes. "Definitely."

B&B

"Anything to report, Wendell?" Cam asked as she stepped through the door.

He turned away from the remains and quirked an eyebrow. "Nothing new, but I can review it with you if you want." Having just been through everything with Dr. Brennan he was a little surprised that she was asking. They had an ID and cause of death, his work now was to catalog the prior injuries so that the case was presented to the FBI in Brennan's definition of complete. But, if there was one thing he had learned around here it was to never assume anything and so he rolled with it.

"No, that's ok, I was just asking," she answered.

Wendell watched as she circled the table absently rubbing her hand on her belly as she reviewed the remains. "Dr. Saroyan, is everything ok?"

"Of course, why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, you just seem…" he hesitated knowing the wrong word to a pregnant woman was a dangerous thing. "You seem pensive."

Cam stared at him so long he began to worry. When she spoke her question caught him completely off guard. "Your mom works, right?"

"Huh? Uh…yeah, of course; too much really, but you do what you gotta do. She's a cook for the school system and she pulls a couple of night shifts waiting tables."

"She did that while you were growing up?"

Wendell nodded and elaborated. "The waiting tables came after my dad died, but yeah, she's always worked." Cam seemed lost in a new thought and he had a pretty good idea what this was all about. "I've never understood that thing about women should stay home," he offered turning his eyes back to the body so he didn't make her uncomfortable. "I think I've got the best mom in the world and her working didn't hurt me one bit."

"Your mother did an excellent job, Mr. Bray," Cam said giving his arm a squeeze on her way out of the room.

Wendell turned enough to watch her leave and he smiled. Things were a little different around here these days, but it was all good.

B&B

"Mr. Henley, I know your time in Iraq created a lot of emotional stress for you. I've been advised you were seeking assistance from Dr. Peterson." Sweets stated to Rick Henley after he and Booth had been talking with the man for nearly twenty minutes.

Rick met Sweets eyes calmly but then his eyes flickered towards Booth in a much more anxious manner, "Yeah, I tried to deal with it on my own and all that did was alienate my wife from me."

"So what made you change your mind?" Sweets asked, already knowing the answer but often it was how a suspect would disclose this type of information that gave him the real answers he needed. Rick never wavered but before he answered his eyes lowered to the table and his voice became colored with disgust as he answered, "I beat my wife and when she got tired of it and she left me that did it."

"Don't you think after the first arrest that would be enough to get you to seek help?" Booth asked his anger became more evident.

"I know, my friend Matt tried to talk me into therapy more than once, but I just blew him off thinking I could get through it on my own," Rick said quietly.

"So, others knew of your actions?" Booth pressed.

"Just Matt, he was there from the beginning I guess," Rick shrugged.

"How do you mean? He witnessed it?" Booth pressed again not caring if he made Rick uncomfortable.

Rick sighed, "Yeah you could say that. He was there in Iraq with me. We served together and were in the same unit."

Booth pressed on, "What happened over there?"

Rick's eyes shot up surprised, "That's classified."

"Let's just assume I know what happened when that kid got caught in the line of fire," Booth said his eyes meeting Rick's.

The ex-soldier stared at Booth shocked by the disclosure, "How did you find out?"

"I have my sources. Why don't you tell me what happened?" Booth asked again but not unkindly. He knew it was every serviceman's nightmare to kill a civilian, but a kid was exponentially worse.

Rick's eyes looked unfocused as he replied, his voice devoid of emotion and his eyes staring blankly into space, "Well it seems you're well informed Agent Booth, why don't you tell me?"

"Nope, not gonna be that easy buddy, you tell me," Booth leaned in rapping the table with his knuckles to get his attention. It worked as the noise startled him, he watched as Rick brought himself back to the moment. Shifting forward Booth tried to help him understand. "You gotta be straight with me, soldier. I will find out what happened to her. Don't make it hard for me. Don't dishonor her that way. Don't dishonor that kid."

Rick ran a hand through his hair then began, "It was dark, we had a standard mission. Intelligence gave us a safe house where some insurgents where staying. My unit surrounded the house… I remember it was a moonless night. Night vision goggles help some but you know," he looked at Booth his eyes nearly desperate, "moonlight would have helped."

Booth nodded, remembering how often he had thought that himself. "Go on," he added quietly trying not to break Rick's remembrances.

"Well, we surrounded the house then all hell broke loose. Someone spotted us somehow. My guy jumped out with an AK47 blazing. I didn't think, I just reacted and took him out."

He shuddered then added, "What I didn't see was that he had a seven-year old kid in his arms using him as a damn fucking human shield." He added his voice dead, "I put two rounds in the kid's head and three in the insurgent's."

Booth empathized. This was definitely a Hell he was fortunate to never have encountered himself but he understood how it happened. The adrenalin, his need to protect his men, nothing was stronger than a bond forged in fire but it made you brittle too. He nodded slowly and said firmly, "You know it wasn't your fault right? You had orders to engage, it was dark and sometimes nothing but bad goes down."

"Yeah," Rick said as his hand scrapped his face raw, "Yeah that's what they told me. Hell, that's what my shrink tells me all the time. I try to believe it." He looked at Booth square in the face and said, "Tell me that wouldn't have tormented you? I dare you."

Booth looked him for a moment one soldier to another and replied quietly, "Yeah, it would have."

B&B

Brennan arrived a few minutes after Henley had gone. Booth had asked her to help interrogate Detective Williams, who was due to arrive any minute. She walked into his office and joined Sweets wanting a review of the Henley interrogation.

"Thoughts, Sweets?" Booth asked quickly as he took a seat behind his desk. He knew where he stood but wanted the psychologist's opinion. Sweets sat down and looked at Booth, his mind still processing the image of war that had been invoked in that room, it was raw and it was potent. He sighed quietly and said, "Agent Booth, though it's well documented that he abused his wife he didn't act like he killed her. It was obvious he loved her, but he felt smothered by his torment and took it out on the one person he thought would never leave him."

He looked at Brennan and added, "He hurt the person he loved the most."

Brennan asked, "Dr. Sweets, how does that dissuade you from thinking he didn't kill Amanda?"

Sweets turned towards her to respond noting Booth had said nothing, "The fact that I didn't see that, nothing in his tone indicated guilt or remorse about killing her. Though he was obviously tormented in how unwittingly he may have contributed to her death by abusing her."

He shrugged knowing she'd want more in way of evidence so he added what she needed to hear, "His body language was consistent with telling the truth. He admitted freely that the trauma that had been inflicted on him through no fault of his own, his dependence on Amanda, his torment and finally his resolve to seek counseling all point to a man telling the truth. He hid behind nothing he left his soul bare in that room. If he had killed her, he would have been more agitated. He would have quickly moved to focus our attention on another killer."

Booth added quietly as his eyes met Brennan's, "He blames himself."

"He does?" she asked confused.

"He blames himself because ultimately his actions drove her away and led to her death. If she had been safe with him, like she should have been, whoever did this to her would never have got the chance."

"You found guilt by association but not actual guilt?" she asked confused. "We're back at square one, no closer to the killer," Brennan said rhetorically.

"Yeah," Booth stood and gestured towards the door, "Which means we need answers. Ok, Bones, we're up!" They were quiet as they walked down the corridor both reflecting on what they had learned. Booth paused at the door, "You good, Bones?"

She nodded. "It is quite sad," she said voicing her most troubling thought.

A gloomy smile touched his lips. It was sad. "Only way to help make it a little better is to find the truth."

Her lips lifted in a small show of pride. "And we excel at finding the truth."

"Right you are, partner," he agreed as he opened the door.

They took their seats and the waiting officer looked back expectantly. "Detective Williams, I see you were the investigating officer on multiple abuse arrests of Rick Henley. Can you tell me about those?" Booth started out slow, he knew the facts but he didn't have Williams' impressions and wanted them.

Williams leaned forward slightly and began. "The arrests were over a three-year period. Each time my partner and I were dispatched by a 911 call made by Mrs. Amanda Henley. Each time we were required to take her husband down to the city jail and he was charged with domestic abuse," he paused then added, "She'd drop the charges each time."

Brennan frowned, "Didn't you try to get Amanda out of that situation? She was obviously being abused and had multiple hospital stays as a result."

Matt said his voice hesitated at first, "Yeah, we tried. Each time we tried to get her out of that situation permanently but she'd just go back to him. The last time, he nearly killed her and she finally left."

Booth stated, "But she still didn't press charges."

"Yeah, the final time it was only because he agreed to counseling," he sighed with remembrance.

Booth felt a cautious sense of something but he unsure just what was triggering his radar. "Detective, you personally aquatinted with the Henleys, correct?"

Brennan looked at Booth surprised, not knowing where his question came from.

Matt looked surprised at the question but answered honestly, "Yeah Rick and I were in the same unit. Amanda and he married before he shipped out."

Brennan shocked asked, "And yet, you were a party to the abuse?"

Matt nearly jumped out of his seat but somehow managed to answer, "Seriously, did you just ask me that?" He glared at Dr. Brennan and then shot a murderous glance at Booth.

Booth reacted jumping to his feet in response to the implied threat to Brennan. The officer seemed to immediately realize he was out of line and he offered a quick apology as he calmly reclaimed his seat. Booth sat back down and waited. He watched the agitation build on Williams' face. Silence was often a great tool in interrogation.

When he thought the other man was off balance he changed course, "Were you in on that raid? The one that has Henley messed up?"

Matt looked just as surprised as Rick had and nodded once with a jerk.

"How do you deal with it?" Booth asked, to a casual observer he simply looked curious. But Brennan knew that pose as though it was one of her own - he was digging.

Matt looked away then after a moment he took a settling breath, "Horticulture."

Brennan looked a bit surprised and asked, "I don't understand how that is therapeutic."

Matt's eyes met hers as he explained, "Working with hybrids, orchids in particular, I found I had a talent to bring them to life. The shrink I've been seeing thinks it's what has allowed me to let go."

Booth asked, "You voluntarily sought out a mental health professional once you were discharged?"

Matt looked at Booth, his eyes guarded but his voice level when he finally answered, "Yes."

"And Henley refused to do the same?"

He nodded before he looked away and added in a voice filled with grief, "I knew what was happening to her. Hell, I had all the evidence in front of me." He continued, his emotions pouring through unchecked, "Amanda's face bruised and bloody was all I needed," he paused and looked at his hands, "I tried to help them."

Brennan asked, "Are you the one that helped her leave him?"

"Yeah, she was staying with a friend of mine," he looked up and added, "She was starting to build a life for herself."

Booth leaned in, "What happen?"

"I don't know," Matt stared unseeing at the table.

"Rick told us that Amanda had planned to return to him," Booth added, "Did you know?"

Matt looked up quickly and replied, "Yeah, she might have mentioned that."

Booth asked quietly not trying to break the spell. Conflict, guilt and remorse rolled off the other man in waves. "How did that make you feel?"

Matt tried to shrug, Booth could see it but the tension was too thick, "Like hell."Then he'd looked at Booth, his eyes never wavered as he replied, "I let her down, I let him down by not protecting her."

He said quietly as though to himself, "I should have done something to protect her from him. He wasn't ready. I knew he wasn't, but she was oh so willing to forgive him again. And again and again…" He asked, "Agent Booth, what would you have done?" Not expecting a reply, he added quietly, "I'll regret for the rest of my life Amanda's death and Rick's pain. I don't know for sure he killed her, but his actions in my mind lead to her death." His eyes filled with pain as he added, "I failed them both."

* * *

><p>"Hey Babe, have you identified the particulates?" Angela asked as she entered Hodgins' domain.<p>

Jack glanced up at his wife, seeing the now familiar tension he wondered briefly if he should talk to her. It took only an instant to decide it was better to keep their discussion to the case. "Yeah, decomposed silk," Hodgins replied with a bit of pride. He absolutely loved his job and the joy from it was only second to the joy he had felt the day he'd made Angela his own.

Angela saw the pride and silently admitted this would never get old. But she dearly loved to tease him and asked, "Clothing? Or can you determine?"

"Of course I can determine what kind, its charmeuse silk usually bedding is made from that," Hodgins explained.

"Do you think the body was wrapped in a silk sheet?" Angela asked quickly.

Hodgins met her eyes and smiled. He loved it when she understood him so easily. "Exactly."

"You know what that means, don't you?" Angela asked with a raised brow.

Looking at his wife he laughed, "Oh yeah, I'd say her assailant was her lover."

"The husband?" Angela asked.

"Maybe," he added vaguely his eyes already back on his microscope, "But, there's pollen that I can't identify here. I think its key."

Angela smiled as she turned to leave knowing he'd be immersed in his research as soon as she left, "Well, Babe I know you'll figure it out." She then paused and added, "Jack? If it's unknown you may want to try the patent office. It's probably a new hybrid."

Hodgins looked up quickly a breathtaking smile catching her in its intensity. Excitement rolled off in waves as he wrapped a quick arm around her waist and buzzed her cheek with a quick kiss. His eyes shined as he exclaimed, "Babe, you are a genius."

Angela laughed, "And Bren is forever telling me I'm not. And in this case she's right. I bet in another 10 minutes you would have thought to do the same."

Hodgins froze and he stopped to look at her seriously as he said, "You know Dr. B refers to the scientific measurement. You do know that right? She values you as much as anyone else on this team."

Angela nodded pleased he seemed to want to defend her this way. It had been years since she had been insecure being surrounded by brainiacs. She had long ago realized her real value was balance. She added a shrug and laughed, "Are you kidding? If I didn't take intuitive leaps with the Angelatron, you guys would be toast!." With that she winked and turned to leave.

B&B

Brennan stole a fry from Booth's plate as she asked, "What did you make of Detective Williams?"

Booth shook his head and playfully swatted Brennan's hand away from his fries as she tried to sneak another. He answered quickly, "Conflicted."

"I registered that as well but I can't seem to determine the underlying cause," she said then added thoughtfully, "It seemed to be more than friendship."

Booth nodded, "That's the problem it was definitely more than friendship."

"Perhaps he feels he shirked his duties somehow?" Brennan asked.

"Yeah, I got a distinct feeling that he really loved them, both of them. But he's definitely conflicted about that," Booth agreed.

"Conflicted how?" she asked.

"Not sure yet, but something tells me he was closer to Amanda then he's lead on," Booth answered slowly as though his words had caught up with his thoughts not the other way around.

"Do you think she took him as a lover?"

"Possibly," Booth nodded slowly.

"You think he would have crossed the boundaries of brotherhood, of friendship, like that?"

"Sometimes who you love isn't a conscious decision, Bones."

Brennan looked back at him her blue eyes bright but her face impassive. After a moment they shared a nod. Brennan reached for another fry and Booth swatted her hand. She returned the favor before he could pick up his own and she snagged two from the plate dragging them through the ketchup before lifting them to her lips.

B&B

Upon returning to the lab, Brennan went directly to her office. Not moments after putting her purse down Hodgins rushed in, Cam followed behind slightly breathless as she tried to match his pace.

Once she saw Dr. Hodgins bright smile Brennan knew he'd had what he referred to as a 'King of the Lab' moment. She could appreciate his desire to prove his brilliance and she couldn't argue that the spirit of the competition still seemed to be alive in the lab.

"Dr. Brennan, I figured it out," Hodgins exclaimed.

"Figured out what, Dr. Hodgins?"

"He determined the origin and source of the pollen," Cam answered restating the parameters of his investigation for the clarity Brennan needed.

"Yeah, Angie suggested I look into patents on orchid hybrid and I hit pay dirt. Found the patent registered to a group called "Gardeners of America". It's an organization that fosters and supports hybrid breeders, providing assistance and methods to create reproducible hybrids." He then added with a note of admiration, "They actually are some of the most creative breeders of hybrids in the world."

"And your point?" Brennan asked quickly. Hodgins often could get off track when he thought about the details and cellular structure that supported each specimen. At times she, like Cam, had to cut through the manure to get the conclusion.

Hodgins grinned but allowed her to corral him, "Well, it happens our pollen is from a hybrid that had recently been registered. It's already been broken down at the molecular level, so I was able to easily compare it to the patent office database and…. I've got a match and a breeder."

Cam had watched the exchange and asked, "Any thoughts on that Dr. Brennan?"

"The only logical match would be Matt Williams, he's an amateur horticulturist," Brennan concluded. As she replied she and Cam watched as Hodgins deflated before them.

Cam couldn't help the smirk that quirked her lips then asked with a teasing note to her voice, "Dr. Hodgins has Dr. Brennan identified the amateur breeder?"

Hodgins straightened his shoulders then replied, "Yeah, yeah. But how did you figure it out? Did he say something?"

"Yes, Booth suspected he was more involved in the domestic abuse case then a typical arresting officer would. During the interrogation Williams mentioned he'd become an amateur gardener as a form of therapy to deal with his PTSD," Brennan clarified.

Cam summarized, "The silk and the flowers…. He loved her."

Brennan nodded then asked, "It would seem so, but how could he kill her? How could you kill anyone you loved like that?"

"Well from what I've read, Amanda had left Rick for nearly a year. It's probably goes without saying that Detective Williams had forged a bond with her. Perhaps it slowly became more than friendship.".

Angela had joined them and interrupted upon heard Cam's theory, "Yeah and don't forget that Rick had said that Amanda had agreed to return to him shortly before she disappeared." She sighed and shook her head at what seemed the most likely conclusion. "Do you think Williams killed her in a fit of rage?"

Brennan nodded but clarified, "The struggle and the defensive wounds indicate a great deal of force. Such a situation is a likely explanation."

Cam interjected. "Cops see that kind of thing all the time. Amanda decided to return to Rick. When Williams found out something snapped and in the course of the argument he shot her."

"Supposition," Brenan warned, "But, we have enough for a warrant and perhaps Booth can get a full confession from him once he is confronted with the evidence."

There was silence as they all considered their findings. Collectively, they knew their work was nearly done; it was now up to Booth to validate the motive.

* * *

><p>Booth was seated in his usual spot at the bar, their usual spot, he corrected mentally. This was their usual spot to celebrate the closure of a case. He glanced around Founding Fathers seeing several familiar faces but he stayed seated as he waited for Brennan to join him.<p>

He'd just gotten back from arresting Williams, followed by a quick phone call to Henley letting him know he'd arrested Williams for the murder of his wife. Nursing his beer his thoughts skittered over the busy afternoon. After the judge had issued the search warrant allowing the FBI Techs to gather the orchid samples, it had all gone by the numbers. He could still hear Hodgins' excitement over the hybrids, kind of annoying but in a good way. It wasn't often he made Hodgins' day and closed a case all at the same time. The confirmation of the pollen match was all it took. His thoughts drifted to his interrogation of Matt Williams. The evidence was overwhelming he had to admit and it seemed Matt had agreed. Not two minutes after he'd cited the key evidence Matt went from defiant to blubbering like a baby. The cop had poured out his tale and Booth recalled the emotion of his confession. He heard the pain in Matt's voice as he gasped between the tears, "Oh, God… I loved her. I'd have loved her forever. I still love her."

The tears had come even faster after that as did the full confession. It never bothered Booth if a suspect was their own worst enemy. It was as though they knew nothing could change the verdict and hoped by confessing he'd somehow absolved them of their sins. But the pain he saw on Matt's face and heard in his voice, that was as real as it got. He knew love could destroy a person if not returned. Booth had some idea of the demons Matt had fought, but to cross the line like that was something he couldn't understand.

Matt had explained that prior to Rick and Amanda's reconciliation he and Amanda had started a torrid affair. Initially they'd only sought comfort from each other, each holding a piece of a tattered love, his of his friend, she of her husband. Rick's betrayal had bound them together, it was twisted Booth knew but he'd seen it before. Matt had explained that as time passed, his feeling changed from protective to possessive. Amanda had hidden her conversations of reconciliation from him until the day she broke the news. A day he'd regret for the rest of his life Booth knew.

The outcome was predictable when you knew all the details. He'd thought he lost his mind in that moment and took out his service revolver intending to kill Rick. Amanda and he had fought and the gun had gone off. He'd wrapped her in the sheet from her bed, where'd they made love. He'd buried her as near to the cemetery as he dared along with a sprig of his orchids.

Booth's thoughts were interrupted as his partner quickly claimed the stool next to him. He flashed his trademark smile then nodded to the bartender who came to get his partner's order. Once she had her drink he clinked his glass against hers, "We did it again, hey Bones?"

"That we did." Brennan than turned to face Booth then asked curiously, "But why? Why did he do it?"

Booth bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a grin. He remembered a time when "why" or "motive," wasn't important to his partner. Taking a sip of his beer he explained. "He was in love with her. When she told him she planned to reconcile with Rick, he simply lost it." He paused, "In the struggle for the gun, it went off and it killed her."

Brennan nodded solemnly, "Three lives ruined…"

Booth took a swig of his beer and sighed, "Turner called and gave me an update. I'm sure they'll put him on suicide watch since he was inconsolable. Bonds of friendship and love destroyed with a single bullet," he concluded.

Brennan looked at Booth his shoulders were now slightly hunched over. She asked, "Do you ever think that could have happened to you?"

Booth answered carefully, "Maybe… at one time I did. Lord knows I was pretty messed up after returning from my last tour with the Rangers, before joining the FBI. But," he smiled softly his eyes held hers as he continued, "I found a way past it…You see, awhile back I found this person who offered to help me balance my scales. Gave me a chance to redeem myself and that made all the difference."

She smiled wide, "That person sounds quite exceptional."

He matched her grin with his own, "Oh yeah, she really is."

* * *

><p><strong><em>When is a reality game show worth more than cash and prizes? Join us next week when Booth and Brennan discover that for one unlucky contestant it was worth his life in The Enemy in the Alliance by Thnx4theGum.<em>**


	6. The Enemy in the Alliance

Season 6.5 x 06: The Enemy in the Alliance ~ Written by Thnx4theGum

"I'm gonna grab a smoke and a drink, you want anything?" Lou Jersey called to his partner, Paul, whose eyes were focused on the screen in front of him.

"Coffee," the older man responded without looking up.

"Sure," Lou shrugged.

"And can you check on the number four on your way back?" came the reply that was more order than suggestion. "Feed's not coming in clear."

Lou mumbled incoherently before grabbing his ball cap and shoving it on his head as he hurried out the door. His long legs took him through the maze of temporary shelters, though not fast enough for his fingers, which were itching for the pack in his pocket. A dozen other guys just like him were inside their shelters, hunched over screens just like his and Paul's, looking for that one moment that would get Kent's attention and buy them some airtime.

The guys over in principal photography, Lou thought as he moved past a row of much nicer trailers, never had to worry about that. They covered all of the challenges; all of the camp footage; all of the round-table sessions; and all of the one-on-one interview inserts. In short, all of the stuff that a producer like Kent lived for.

A cool gust of wind brought a curse to Lou's lips as the flame from his lighter was blown out. He cupped his hand and lit the flame, inhaling deeply as the cigarette caught it this time, then blew out all the frustration of working a second-rate job, for a second-rate reality show, on a second-rate network. Besides, he told himself as he finished the first smoke and moved onto a second while he went to go check the number four camera, second unit was where the real money shots were.

They handled the hidden cameras that caught all the "secret" trysts, alliances, and whatever other crap went on when the contestants thought no one else was looking. Those were the money shots.

"You at the number four yet?" Paul's gravelly voice crackled from the radio at Lou's belt.

"Almost," Lou rolled his eyes.

He looked around, scanning the brush for the hidden camera, then groaned.

"Looks like the storm knocked it down," he reported back. "There are leaves and branches all over the place here."

"Figures," Paul grunted back.

Lou looked around carefully before stepping over the thick rope that separated the production crew from the players. Supposedly everyone was at some kind of reward challenge right now but the last thing he wanted was to get chewed out for interference. Nothing but the sound of the wind moving through the trees met his ears, though, as he began clearing the debris from the camera.

"Got it," Paul's voice sounded as the biggest branch was tossed away. "Looks like there's sand on the lens, though."

"There's sand everywhere," Lou grumbled to himself, using the inside of his cotton t-shirt to gently clean the lens. Aside from the small patch of trees here and one on the other side of the island, it was mostly just sand and miles of dune grass and wildflowers.

He was just about to set the camera back in its hiding spot when a flash caught the corner of his eye. Carefully, he put the camera in its camouflaged nook and went to investigate, ignoring his squawking partner's protests.

"Ow!" he yelped, looking down to find a crab trying to attach itself to his big toe. The crab flew to the sand with one good shake, skittering away and Lou followed it with his eyes to make sure it was safely away before he continued.

"What's going on out there?" Paul demanded.

Lou moved a foot closer to the escaping crab and gagged.

Hundreds of crabs milled back and forth, crawling over a mound of mangled bits of flesh and eerily white bones. Expletives tumbled from the cameraman's mouth as the crab he'd been following plunged a pincer into an open eye socket and pulled something out.

Back in the temporary shelter, Paul was forced to watch as his partner turned toward the camera and emptied the contents of his stomach over and over again.

B&B

"Behold, Assawoman Bay," Booth gestured broadly as he stepped out of the SUV.

"If this is Assawoman, I'd hate to see Assa_man_," Hodgins quipped from behind him.

Moving around the vehicle, Brennan shook her head, "I've never heard of Assaman Bay, though there is an Assateague Island further south of here."

Hodgins snickered but stopped whatever he'd been about to say at a well-timed glare from Booth just as someone approached them.

"Agent Booth?" a slickly-dressed man asked, not bothering to wait for Booth's reply. "Kent Thompson, executive producer of _The Electorate_. I presume you all won't be here too long?"

"We'll be here as long as we need to be," Brennan spoke up, bristling at the man's tone.

"And you are?" the producer asked, voice dripping with scorn.

"She's Dr. Brennan," Booth snapped, "my partner and more importantly, the woman who decides when - or _if_- the crime scene gets released back to you. So how about showing a little respect, huh?"

The man muttered what may have been an apology before handing the trio off to his personal aide, Mike Grable and excusing himself.

"This way," Grable motioned them.

"How long have you been shooting?" Booth asked as they slogged through the sand, wishing he was in anything but dress shoes.

"Production's been here three weeks," answered Grable, "but we're only fourteen days into the game."

He led them into the wooded area, explaining that it was supposed to be a twenty-day shoot and that most of the services they'd contracted out for were just for the month.

"Explains why your boss is so eager to get the cameras rolling again," Booth grimaced.

Grable nodded nervously, as if unsure how much he should be sharing with the agent, then pointed to where a group of FBI techs were already busy gathering evidence, "Body's over there. One of our camera guys found it when he went to check on some storm damage."

"I'm going to need to talk to him," Booth said, moving to the side as Hodgins and Brennan surged forward toward the body. He watched Grable avert his eyes from the scene and felt a little sorry for him, "Look, um, any ideas who that might be up there? Anyone who's missing?"

"Co-Cody," the kid stuttered, closing his eyes and shaking his head before returning his eyes to Booth, "Cody Lawson. But Kent says most likely he just wandered off to clear his head for a while. Anyway he hasn't been missing long enough to look like _that_."

Booth nodded, letting him believe that, "I'm gonna go check on the squints. You can stay here if you need to."

Grable opted to stay behind, suddenly very interested in something on his BlackBerry, so Booth left him to it and moved toward the body. Fortunately the wind was blowing out, keeping the odor at bay, but it didn't keep Booth's stomach from giving a small lurch as the body came into view and he wondered for the millionth time why his partner never seemed affected.

"Whatcha got for me, Bones?" he pulled out his hula pen and small notepad. "Are we looking at a murder here?"

"Oh yeah," Hodgins chimed in before Brennan could answer, holding out a duck that had meandered onto the crime scene, "it was murder most fowl!"

* * *

><p>Brennan of course wouldn't positively ID the victim until more evidence was in but Booth counted it a minor victory that by the time they left with the remains she was willing to admit that the body matched the physical descriptors given by Grable. The poor young assistant was so shaken up by this news, along with a glimpse of the body he'd gotten when Booth called him over, it was everything he could do to keep it together long enough to call his boss.<p>

Kent, on the other hand, showed an utter lack of emotion at the prospect except to complain that Brennan refused to release the crime scene back to Kent's production unit until the next morning.

"Wait," Booth halted Kent's rant with a raised hand, "you mean you're still filming even though one of your contestants is dead?"

"Presumed dead," Brennan corrected.

"I am," Kent pulled himself up to his full six feet, three inches, ignoring Brennan and all but sneering at Booth. "'The show must go on.'"

"Not on _my_crime scene," Booth informed him in no uncertain terms.

"No skin off mine, man," Kent shrugged. "There's a whole island here in case you haven't noticed and not _all_ of it is on _your_crime scene."

With one last huff of disapproval, the producer stalked away, yelling out orders to his crew to get things set up for the day's work and making sure Booth could hear him telling them where they could and could not film now.

"That man is highly unpleasant," Brennan wrinkled her nose in distaste as the production crew streamed away from the scene and back to work. "Are you going to get Federal on his ass?"

Booth wasn't sure if his chuckle was at her wording or the way her eyes glittered with power but he shook his head, "Technically he's right. As long as he hasn't broken any laws and he stays away from the crime scene I can't do anything other than order them to all stay close and be available for questioning."

"It doesn't appear Mr. Thompson will be allowing anyone to leave," observed Brennan. "Which should in theory make the questioning process simpler to execute."

"Assuming they trust us more than Grable," Booth said as they supervised the remains being loaded into the forensics van. "Guarantee that kid doesn't tie his shoes without getting Thompson's permission first."

"He does seem to exhibit beta male characteristics," her head bobbed in agreement, hair barely contained within her ponytail as once again the wind picked up speed. "So what's our next move?"

Booth gave her a surprised look, "Aren't you going back to the lab with the remains?"

Whatever she had been about to say was curtailed when a very breathless Sweets came running up behind them, panting and tripping over his loafers slightly as he blurted out, "Hey guys! I made it!"

"Swift entrance, Hooch," teased Booth. "You run all the way here?"

"Very funny," Sweets scolded between gulps of air. "My meeting ran late. Meanwhile, I'm here now so fill me in on what I need to know and what the game plan is."

"You called Sweets?" Brennan folded her arms across her chest and addressed Booth directly.

Booth threw his hands up and shook his head and both partners turned as one to face the psychologist.

"Oh, come on," he looked at them as if they should have expected him to show up. "Murder? In the middle of a reality show? You are definitely going to need me."

"I don't see that we will," Brennan sniffed even as Booth nodded his head to agree with Sweets.

"Seriously?" Sweets' eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his head, then he gave a sigh, "Look, Dr. Brennan, I know that you have your theories about my brand of science, but I'm telling you that here, in this setting, psychology is king. I guarantee you they have at least a handful of media psychologists on staff here that I can get information from, not to mention I know all of the psychological games that are played during these things by the contestants."

"I'm not familiar enough with the hiring practices of an endeavor such as this," Brennan began, "however, I believe you are mistaking what you would call 'psychological games' with certain anthropological truisms." She turned to Booth, "To answer your earlier question, I had not planned on returning to the lab right away because I feel my skills as an anthropologist would be best applied here. In controlled environments, people _anthropologically_respond to one another in certain, predictable patterns."

"That's because the human _mind_is programmed that way," Sweets insisted. "You know, our fields of discipline aren't as antithetical as you'd like to believe."

"Okay," Booth stretched the word out far beyond its normal two syllables and physically moved between the two before his partner decided to clock Sweets. "Clearly _both _of you did better than me on the SATs. Now, before we all forget that somewhere in the middle of these people there's a murderer, let's split up. Bones and I will question the contestants; Sweets can go shrink the shrinks. Any questions?"

Sweets looked appropriately chagrined and Brennan dropped her arms to her side, though her lips were still set in a firm line. Booth's eyes moved back and forth between the two doctors and when he was satisfied that he'd gotten as much out of both of them as he was going to get he gave a curt nod.

"I think the producer's assistant mentioned that there was a hotel on the next island over where all the castoffs, or castaways, or whatever they're called here are being housed," he said to both Sweets and Brennan. "That's probably our best bet for now with filming still going on, though I am going to make sure we get to talk to whoever's left in the game over here too, show or no show."

With a game plan firmly in place, they touched base with Hodgins and sent him, along with the remains, the crabs, and the FBI tech team back to the Jeffersonian with specific instructions from Brennan as to what she expected Wendell to do in her absence. She then excused herself to call her student and make sure he understood the given tasks. Once she was satisfied that all was taken care of on the forensics end, she and Booth and Sweets commandeered one of the production company's small motor boats and set off for the adjoining island.

B&B

"I've got crabs, Baby!" Hodgins announced gleefully to his wife as he rolled the skid filled with the live crabs he'd rounded up at the scene through the sliding doors.

"Something that might have been helpful to know before the wedding," she said drily, neatly sidestepping the kiss he tried to plant on her cheek as he left the skid at the bottom of the steps and joined the rest of the team on the forensic platform.

A now-familiar frustration filled the entomologist, but he persisted, "Mmm, where's your sense of adventure?" When that failed to raise even a hint of a smile he turned to the other two on the platform and waved a hand at the crates, "_Callinectes sapidus_."

"Blue crabs!" Wendell grinned, proud of himself for recognizing the species name.

"Evidence?" Cam raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Hodgins nodded, "They made whoever this poor guy is look like that," he pointed to the remains on the table, "in a matter of hours. That's why there are so many crates, actually. Give these guys too long in the same space without enough food and they'll start snacking on each other. Don't worry, though, I've got a perfect habitat for them back in the Ookie Room."

With that, he flashed a grin, rubbed his hands together in eager expectation, gave Angela half a hug, and left, hauling the crabs along with him.

"So what can you tell me, Mr. Bray?" Cam segued into teacher mode, satisfied that Hodgins didn't need any further supervision.

"Caucasian male," the grad student said, eyeing the remains critically. "25-30 years old."

"Cause of death?"

"Hard to tell with all the sand and grit everywhere," Wendell frowned. His eyes raked up and down the body several times, then peered into the skull, "Looks like there might be some trauma back there but I won't be able tell for sure until the bones have been cleaned. And his left shoulder is dislocated, probably post-mortem."

Cam gave him an encouraging smile, "Dr. Brennan said the same thing in her report. My guess is he was dragged into the shallow grave but between last night's storm and the crabs he surfaced a whole lot faster than our murderer wanted. Angela, have those dental x-rays we asked for come in yet?"

"Huh?" Angela seemed shaken from a reverie but recovered quickly, scrambling for the computer. "Oh, let's see... Yeah, they just came in, let me bring them up."

She sorted out the images until she found the wider, all-inclusive, ones she was looking for, "Here we go. All I need is x-rays from our mystery man here and I can tell you if we've got a match."

With a satisfied nod, Cam smiled her thanks at the artist and got to work collecting tissue samples, while Wendell peeled off his gloves and went in search of the portable x-ray machine.

* * *

><p>"Angela has confirmed the dental x-rays," Brennan spoke softly to Booth behind her paper coffee cup.<p>

Booth lifted his own cup and muttered out of the side of his mouth, "A match?"

Brennan nodded her head as the woman on the couch across from them asked fearfully, "A match? A match to who?"

"Whom," corrected Brennan instantly.

"And for right now that's classified information," Booth told both of them sternly, then he turned on the charm for the contestant. "Now, Ms. Pike, I think you were telling us about the game?"

"You can call me, Ruby, Agent Booth," the woman simpered at the attention, causing Brennan to roll her eyes. "So like I said, there are, like, twenty of us all together; ten Blues and ten Reds. It's supposed to be like what state you're from I guess," she leaned in conspiratorially toward Booth, "but everybody lies."

"About being a Democrat or a Republican?" Brennan sounded confused and the woman glared daggers at her for interrupting.

"That too, sure," the woman brushed off the question. "Anyway, everybody knew right from the start that the Blues were doomed, you know? Like they couldn't win a challenge or get it together for anything. Only thing the Blue team ever had going for them was Cody."

"Cody Lawson?" Booth asked.

Ruby's head bounced up and down in time with the gum she was smacking, "Yup. Nobody was surprised that he's the only Blue who made it to the merge. I mean, why veto the best guy out there, right?"

"Don't you mean vote?" Brennan asked at the same time Booth wondered out loud, "What's a merge?"

Brennan tugged at Booth's sleeve and held the coffee cup back up to her lips, "The merge is the point in the game where the two teams are 'merged' into one. This heralds the beginning of the end stage of the game where the focus is on an individual's merit rather than the team's."

"Veto is what we call our voting" Ruby offered. "Right now there are six of 'em left out there. Well, I think there still are. Nobody came back last night so I guess they're all still out there."

"What typically happens during the voting ritual?" Brennan wanted to know.

"Well we all head over the Senate Chamber," Ruby tossed her hair. "There's talking, fighting, yada, yada, yada. Then one by one we put the name of whoever we want to veto out into the chamber pot."

At this, Ruby gave a wan smile and Booth couldn't help the snort that escaped him.

"An interesting play on words," was Brennan's comment. "And after the votes are tallied and announced?"

"Usually whoever's vetoed off does their last interview, then sees the docs and comes back here to eat and get a long, hot shower." Ruby told them. "Except nobody came back last night; maybe 'cause of the merge."

"Thanks," Booth rose to his feet and offered his hand. "You've been a big help."

"If you need _anything_," Ruby emphasized the last word and batted her eyes suggestively, "just call. I'm not going anywhere."

Booth didn't reply one way or the other but there was a teasing glint in his partner's eyes as Ruby walked away, "I believe that woman would like to sleep with you."

"I'm not interested," he lifted a single shoulder in a shrug.

"Not complicated enough?" she grinned in her overtly sly manner.

"Nope."

"She's still staring at you," Brennan jutted her chin toward Ruby, who was definitely eyeing Booth up from the other side of the lobby.

"Jealous, Bones?" he teased back.

Her mouth opened to retort, then snapped shut as she spotted Sweets exiting an elevator and coming across the lobby toward them. She gestured toward him.

"Got anything juicy, Sweets?" Booth asked once he was close enough.

"The teams were separated into the Blue states and the Red states," Sweets began.

"We discovered that as well," Brennan smirked.

"Bones."

Sweets went on, "The Reds consisted of six men and four women, while the Blues started off with four men and six women."

"Who do you think we've been talking to all day?" Booth waved his hand at the lobby full of castoffs. "Did the shrinks give you anything new?"

"I was only able to speak with one," Sweets admitted. "The debriefing doctor. She's in charge of doing the exit interviews. Anyway, apparently three of the women on the Red team - LiAnne, Sandi, and Toshonda - formed a tight alliance at the very beginning of the game and it's still going strong. According to everyone who's been voted off of that team, it's those three who are calling the shots."

"Molly Banks told us there are six people left in the game and that Cody was the only remaining member of the Blue team. If this three-person alliance is still intact, who are the other two contestants?" Brennan wondered out loud.

"Scot Taylor and Glen Dower," Sweets supplied the names without missing a beat. "Dr. Meda told me these two are the exception to the girls' rules, though it sounds like they were just used for their physical strength to get the team to the merge."

"Okay," Booth filtered all of the new information with what he and Bones had already gotten, "so we haven't met anybody yet who didn't like Cody."

"He was the underdog," Sweets agreed. "A great guy on a losing team who defied the odds and made it to the second stage of the game."

"Wouldn't he just get voted off?" Booth asked, throwing the thought out there. "If this alliance is so tight?"

"Not necessarily," Brennan shook her head. "With his physical prowess he could've had the opportunity to maintain individual immunity and force the alliance to vote on its own members. His natural charisma and trusting nature may have allowed him to gain entrance into the alliance at some point, though that's purely speculation."

"Wow, you really follow this stuff don't you?" Booth gave an impressed grin to Brennan, who nodded back enthusiastically.

"I find the study of a variety of personalities thrust into a controlled environment where they must decide how best to 'survive' to be fascinating," her voice was filled with genuine awe, then sobered. "Though none of this speculation is helping us find Cody's killer."

"It was Cody?" the trio whirled around to find Ruby eavesdropping on them, a stunned look now freezing her face. "You guys," she called out loudly to the rest of the room, "Cody's dead!"

Shock rippled through the room as variations of, "No, not Cody!" and "OMG" were repeated like a mantra. Someone screamed and pandemonium erupted.

* * *

><p>After an afternoon and evening of chaos at the island hotel, Brennan was more than satisfied to return to the tranquility of the lab the following morning. Wendell had laid out Cody Lawson's bones on a table in the back room for her to examine, giving her his own observations before she dismissed him. Just before he left the room she stopped him, stating that he'd done an excellent job and should be proud of his efforts. He thanked her quietly and with a soft smile before closing the door behind him.<p>

For the remainder of the morning, Brennan pored over every inch of the body, cataloguing every abnormality she came across. The skull had been fragmented into several larger pieces; some from whatever had caused his death and others from where the crabs had pried it open to get at his brain matter. The work wasn't nearly as tedious as other reconstructions she'd done in the past but it was enough to make her back protest loudly when she finally stood upright again.

"Looks painful," commented Angela from the doorway.

Brennan shook her head, "If I'm correct his death was instantaneous."

Angela's shoulders shook with silent laughter for a moment and she smiled at her friend, "I was talking about you, Sweetie. The way you were arching your back there was just wrong. It looked painful."

"It's sore," she shrugged, "but no more or less so than usual. I finished the tissue markers for you."

"Full reconstruction?" Angela guessed, exchanging the skull Brennan held out for the fresh mug of coffee Angela had grabbed for her friend before seeking her out.

"Yes," confirmed the anthropologist. "Even though we know who he is, I'd like to see if the computer can help us verify which fractures led to his death."

"Can do," the artist assured her. "Hey, I was thinking, there had to have been more than just that one camera filming around that area. If Booth gets me the rest of the footage from that day, I can see if they got anything on film."

"I'll ask him, but we may have to wait and get a warrant," Brennan began peeling off her gloves and tidying up her workspace. "The show's producer hasn't been exceptionally congenial toward Booth and I."

While Brennan and Angela made their way back to Angela's office, Hodgins watched them from the Ookie Room, noting that they were chatting about something; most likely something case related. Or him.

He'd spent the morning collecting blood samples from the crabs' claws but now that the tedious work was over with, he had plenty of time to mull over the state of his marriage. It was as clear as a paramecium on a slide full of euglena that his usually vivacious, free-spirited wife was struggling with something. Something that had only come up _after_they'd returned from Paris. Mentally he began compiling a list of the similarities and differences that could be the root of the issue.

"Dr. Hodgins," Cam's voice broke his reverie and from the sounds of it this wasn't the first time she'd called his name.

"Sorry," he flashed a grin. "Do you need something?"

"An update on the physical evidence that I can pass along to Booth," she informed him.

"Blood samples are in," he told her. "Based on the normal rate these guys strip a body at, I'd say our guy was buried in that shallow grave around midnight."

"Nice and quiet that time of night," Cam frowned. "Fits the timetable I got from what fleshy parts of him were left though."

Hodgins nodded, "I found scraps of plastic all over that crime scene, including some of the crabs so it's a good bet that's what he was wrapped in."

"Anything big enough to look for prints?" Cam looked hopeful.

"Working on it," Hodgins assured her. "There's a lot to sift through."

"I'll send Wendell back," Cam said decisively. She stopped, peering in at the crabs in their new habitat, "Shouldn't they be in a larger tank?"

Hodgins shook his head, "They'll be fine as long as there's plenty of water and food."

"A bigger house isn't always better, huh?" She smiled at him.

Hodgins' eyes went wide and he snapped his fingers, "Exactly! Thanks, Cam!"

With that he turned around and began furiously rooting through his overcrowded desk for something, leaving the pathologist to shake her head and pray that whatever he was thinking of doing wouldn't come with too much paperwork for her.

B&B

Confident that the squints were hard at work in the lab, Booth tasked Agent Turner and Sweets with going through all of the audition tapes the contestants had sent in to get on the show. He wasn't all that hopeful it would get them anywhere but it was something at least. Brennan called with an update and afterward he spent the morning on the phone trying to get Angela all of the footage _The Electorate_had shot so far.

"We got something," Turner's head popped in his door, followed by Sweets.

"Shoot," he waved them in.

"You said that one of the contestants told you that this isn't the first reality show some of these people have been on," she said.

Sweets cut in eagerly, "That got us thinking we should cross-reference the names we've got with other shows. And guess what?"

"What?"

"This wasn't Cody's first show either," Turner's voice brimmed with excitement. "He and one other contestant were on another show last year."

"And they were romantically involved," Sweets added.

Booth's computer chimed and he held up a hand to them as the Jeffersonian connection went live. It was Hodgins and Wendell, and behind them was a sealed glass case where fragments of what looked like a plastic tarp had been hung. Just as the bug man was about to open his mouth, however, another chime rang and the screen divided into two, revealing Brennan and Angela in the artist's office.

"One at a time," Booth told them, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair.

"We found something suspicious on the tapes," Brennan said quickly.

"And _we_found a fingerprint," Hodgins crowed.

"We found out who was romantically involved with Cody in a previous reality show," Sweets couldn't help but throw his two cents in.

"Which part of 'one at a time' do you geniuses not get?" Booth threw up his hands.

"Problem?" Cam stepped into the frame next to Angela and Brennan.

"Nope." Booth looked at them all in turn and tried very hard not to sigh out loud, "Okay, Sweets and Turner were here first, so give me your name."

"Ruby Pike," the couple said as one.

"That's the woman we saw on the tapes," exclaimed Brennan.

"And the fingerprint we found on the plastic," Hodgins let out a laugh of surprise.

"Well," Booth sat up straight in his chair and smiled, "let's get Ms. Pike in here and see what she has to say for herself.

* * *

><p>After forty-five minutes of waiting in the FBI's interrogation room there was no sign of the flirtatious woman Booth and Brennan had interviewed at the hotel.<p>

"Oh, thank goodness!" Ruby leapt up when the partners strolled casually into the room. "Maybe y'all can tell whoever's in charge that I didn't do anything."

"Nothing?" Booth raised a skeptical eyebrow as the pair sat down on the other side of the cold table, exchanging a knowing look with Brennan when Ruby's face fell. He spoke quietly, "We found your fingerprints."

"I had to," the woman insisted.

"_Had_to?" Booth repeated her words back to her.

"Well yeah," she said, and then backtracked, "I mean anyone in my place would've."

"Would they?" It was Brennan's turn to ask the question.

"Probably," the other woman replied in a small voice. "This game does crazy things to you."

"I doubt an insanity plea would hold up in court in your case," Brennan informed her.

"Court?" Ruby's eyes grew wide with fear and she snapped at her gum, jaw chomping it furiously. "Are you for real?"

"Murder is as real as it gets," Booth said gravely.

"Murder?" Ruby straightened, her eyes widening with incredulity. "You think _I_killed Cody?"

Booth wasn't buying the act as he opened the file folder and slid a photo across with two fingers, "Want to explain this?"

"Me and Cody," she nodded.

"On the night that you had been voted off," Brennan pointed to the timestamp at the bottom of the picture. "After you had supposedly left."

"Yeah, I snuck back on to get something I left at camp. He found me," insisted Ruby.

"He dumped you on _Housemates_," Booth stated, pulling a picture from the other reality show from the file. "A loud, noisy breakup where you told him never to come near you again or you would kill him?"

"I was being dramatic," Ruby leaned forward, pleading with them to understand. "I mean, yeah, we didn't get along after I thought he was cheating on me but most of what I said was for the cameras. That's how you get airtime, you know? So all the fans know who you are."

"Getting caught when you had been voted off would have resulted in numerous fines and legal penalties for her," Brennan informed Booth as if Ruby weren't in the room. "Hodgins informs me that the plastic sheeting that fingerprint was on is from a tarp used to form the team's shelters. She could easily have killed him off-camera, then wrapped him in the tarp, and hidden the body before she left."

"Everyone's fingerprints are on those!" Ruby was quick to leap to her own defense. "We all pitched in to build the shelters. I helped put the roof on mine. Besides, I-" She halted, looking down as she spoke quietly, "I loved Cody."

The partners allowed quiet to descend as the woman broke down, shoulders shuddering with the grief.

"He never cheated on me," she sniffed, lifting her red-rimmed eyes to meet Booth's. "That's what he told me the night I came back. He never cheated and I had shoved him away in front of the whole world."

She looked down at the picture of her pushing him, a finger lightly tracing his face in a soft caress, "Guess we won't get that second chance after all."

There was a somber silence broken only as Booth carefully returned the pictures to the file and said gently, "We're sorry for your loss."

B&B

The next morning found the partners on their way back to Assawoman Bay, having doled out assignments to Sweets, Turner, and the Squints.

"It doesn't add up, Bones," Booth shook his head, only partially focused on the road.

"What doesn't?" she tilted her head, curious.

"The evidence."

"The evidence thus far has shown us that Cody Lawson died after sustaining a blow to his head in a fall," she told him. "He was then wrapped in a tarp from one of the shelters, dragged to a remote part of the beach out of sight of the cameras, and buried in a shallow grave. Between Hodgins and Cam we know that he died around midnight, and according to Ruby's testimony it had to be after she left him at 11 o'clock. Weather reports confirm a storm hit the island at 12:30 and continued through the night and it was that storm which exposed the body to the elements and attracted the crabs to the body."

"Yeah, okay, _that_evidence adds up," admitted Booth, "but it's not enough. We still don't know who killed him and Ruby was the only person Sweets and Turner could find with motive."

"The physical evidence almost always leads us to the killer," Brennan said in an attempt to be supportive. "Eventually we _will_find them."

Booth was struck with how certain her faith was in their ability to eventually track down the killer and he offered her a heartfelt smile, "I know, Bones. We're a great team. I've never doubted that."

"Yet you still need more than the physical evidence can provide?" She was curious.

"Yeah," He tried to form his feelings into words. "Knowing the 'why' behind the crime helps me narrow down the 'who' part of the equation. I use motive in the way that you use science; to put things to the test and see what results they bring. And right now according to every shred of evidence we've gone over there is absolutely no reason why anyone would want Cody dead."

Brennan pondered his words as they pulled up to the hotel housing the sequestered contestants. Mike Grable was pacing on the porch, speaking with an agitated voice into the Bluetooth device attached to his ear, but upon catching sight of the partners approaching, he curtly said goodbye and hung up.

"Business as usual?" Booth jutted his chin toward the phone.

"Yeah, sure, it's great," Grable hurriedly assured him. "Um, didn't you already talk to everyone here?"

"Not everyone," Brennan spoke up from Booth's side. "Is your employer still insistent that the game continue?" The man nodded his head and Brennan continued, "Then there are now two contestants present whom we have not interviewed."

"Don't worry, Kid," Booth pulled out an envelope and stuck it in Grable's hand, "while we talk to whoever's new in there, you can give your boss this."

"What is it?" Grable asked, even as he fumbled with the letter inside.

"Cease and desist order," Booth's grin stretched from ear to ear. "Dr. Brennan and her team figured out that Cody wasn't killed where he was buried. That makes the whole island a crime scene until we can narrow down where he died."

With a small, slightly mocking wave, Booth turned and followed Brennan into the hotel. It didn't take them long to track down the latest castoffs, Staci Gettle and Glen Burrows.

"So you're a junior lawyer in DC?" Booth asked the brunette seated before them.

"Right," Staci nodded, "but I'm good at my job."

"No one said you weren't," Booth pointed out.

"Look," the woman met his eyes directly, "most people see my name and they expect some vapid blond. A few people have gone as far as accusing me of sleeping my way up the ladder, but that's not me. I've earned everything I've gotten without help from anyone else. I'll make full partner by the time I'm thirty."

"So why bother with the show?" Booth asked.

"College debt," Came the simple answer. "I went on a swimming scholarship but it didn't pay nearly enough and neither does my job right now. Winning here would give me fifty grand. Enough to pay off my debt and be done with it. Not that it matters now."

"You were vetoed off last night?" queried Brennan.

Staci gave a curt nod.

"Is there anything you can tell us about why Cody Lawson died or who may have killed him?" Brennan asked, eliciting a wince from Booth at her bluntness.

"Cody was a great guy," the younger woman shook her head. "I mean, I didn't know him all that great since he was a Blue, but no. I can't help you. Sorry."

Booth thanked her for her time and suggested Brennan poke around a little bit on the hotel grounds while he talked to Glen Burrows.

"Cody was a great guy," were the first words out of the man's mouth when Booth introduced himself.

"Yeah, I've heard that," deadpanned Booth.

"Look, if you need any help with the investigation I'd be happy to help," Burrows offered eagerly. "I'm in law enforcement too, you know."

He was a mall cop, Booth remembered from Sweets' list and it took everything in him to return the guy's smile and nod. It was even harder when Brennan caught his eye and gave him a smirk. If Burrows voice was any louder, Booth was pretty sure the whole island would hear him. The conversation, however, was drawing an audience Booth didn't particularly want so he suggested they take it outside.

The next forty-five minutes were grueling for Booth, who had to endure the other man's "in-depth" appraisal of the contestants from Burrow's "law enforcement" point of view. Basically, Booth decided, the guy just liked to talk, because what he had to offer didn't add up to more than a handful of things Booth hadn't known before; none of which were at all helpful.

"Sorry, Burrows," Booth said, finally breaking away from the guy as Brennan motioned to him from across the hotel's front lawn, waving her cell phone before holding it up to her ear. "Duty calls."

"What's up, Bones?" he asked as walked toward her briskly.

"Nothing," Her smile and voice were bursting with pride at the ruse. "I sensed that perhaps you had gleaned everything you could from Mr. Burrows."

"And then some," Booth matched her grin. "You're the best, Bones!"

"I'm a wonderful actress," She nodded sincerely.

Booth wasn't quite ready to go that far, but was spared having to comment when the anthropologist's phone began to ring. She answered it, and then had to move to get better cell reception. The call was brief and upon her return she informed him that Angela had determined the exact angle and height from which Cody had fallen. Unfortunately the topographical maps the artist had found were so far out of date they weren't reliable, which meant that it was up to Booth and Brennan to scour the island on foot for the location.

On their way out, they encountered a very livid Kent Thompson who held nothing back in expressing his displeasure toward Booth for causing yet another production delay. The three bedraggled contestants who still remained in the game had also been brought back to the hotel; though if anything, they looked grateful for the chance to have a warm meal and a comfortable bed if only for one night.

Four hours later, a very hungry Booth was regretting not delegating the search to someone else. Apart from his stomach growling, his legs felt like lead and he thought for sure they were never going to find the location Angela had sent them in search of. They were running out of daylight when they finally found a sand dune ringed by larger rocks on one side that Brennan said matched the angles they were looking for. The crimson-tipped rock Booth spotted confirmed their suspicions and Brennan spent the next half hour snapping as many pictures as she could in the waning daylight, while Booth looked for any other clues. Nothing significant was found, but they did dislodge the rock with blood on it and to Booth's relief it wasn't as big as he feared.

By the time they reached the other island, and Booth's SUV, he'd changed his mind about the rock. It was bulky, weighed at least half a ton, and he was sure half the skin on his hands would be missing when he finally set it down. Brennan offered to help along the way but Booth maintained he was fine. The only thing he let her do was open the SUV's back hatch so that he could rid his arms of the rock once and for all.

"Well that was a successful venture," Brennan declared as the hatch door slammed shut.

"We got more of your kind of evidence," Booth nodded, "not mine."

Brennan nodded, and then added thoughtfully, "Perhaps it would be wiser if we stayed the night since we will need to return in the morning anyway."

Booth did the mental calculations and agreed. At least staying he had a chance of getting a good night's sleep. And it saved them two long car trips. "Need anything from the front?" he asked.

She shook her head, but he still went around to retrieve his extra side-arm from the glove compartment. He was just standing up when his eye caught a piece of paper fluttering in the cool night breeze, but firmly trapped under the right windshield wiper.

"Bones, you got any gloves on you?" he called to her, shoving the sidearm in his jacket pocket and closing the front door to get a better look.

Sure enough, she had a spare pair in her back pocket and she carefully lifted the wiper blade and retrieved the paper.

"It's a note," she said, opening it. "Someone wants to meet us at the Giddyup Cafe tomorrow morning."

"Not signed," noted Booth, and then added. "That cafe's on the other side of the island."

"It appears someone here has your kind of evidence after all," she smiled up at him, holding an evidence bag out to him and dropping the note inside before storing it safely in her kit.

* * *

><p>Booth was sound asleep when the scream tore through the hotel, waking him instantly. He was on his feet, sidearm at the ready when the scream came again. And again. And again. By the time the fifth scream sounded he'd found its source along with the growing crowd it had attracted.<p>

"Stand back," he ordered the frightened young woman who was a pale as a ghost and shaking like a leaf, and then bellowed for his partner.

"I'm right here," Brennan materialized at his side, wrapping a supportive arm around the girl, who barely managed to tell them her name was Carrie. In soothing tones, Brennan assured Carrie that Booth had the situation in hand and that she was safe.

Cautiously, Booth eased the door that Carrie had backed out of open. His eyes blinked, adjusting to the light pouring into the dark hallway and he entered the room slowly, sweeping his weapon from side to side.

"Clear," he announced more out of habit than anything.

Dimly, he could hear Brennan's voice, along with Burrows, the mall cop, keeping the swelling tide of onlookers at bay while Booth moved toward the wide-open bathroom door and took in the gruesome scene in front of him. Staci Gettle's lifeless eyes stared dully back at him from the bathtub. She'd been propped up to look like she was taking a bath, arms resting on either side of the claw-foot tub, but the stab wounds in her chest and the blood pooling beneath her told a different story.

"Booth?" he heard Brennan call to him from the hall. The handle rattled, then turned, then opened just far enough for Brennan to squeeze in. "Oh," she said, moving beside him.

"Yeah," Booth grimaced. "I'll call Cam."

The pathologist was none too happy to have her sleep disturbed at two thirty in the morning and told Booth to let the FBI techs process the scene and send the body back to the lab. Brennan, Cam told Booth sleepily, was the better observer anyway and could take all of the pictures Cam needed. As soon as the techs arrived Booth left them under Brennan's careful eye and went to start collecting witness statements.

The still-shaken Carrie explained that she'd come back from a late-night poker game down in the lobby with some of the other contestants. She had assumed that her roommate, Staci, was sound asleep. Not wanting to wake her, Carrie had closed herself in the bathroom before turning on the light only to find, to her horror that Staci was in the bathroom after all. Dead.

By the time dawn broke, Booth and Brennan had talked with everyone in the hotel but were still no closer to pinning down a suspect. Booth didn't want to know how many pots of coffee he was going to need to make it through the day, but the both pressed on, stopping only when they needed to leave to meet their mysterious contact. Neither one was surprised when nobody showed up and it was only after they'd gone back and began searching through Staci's personal belongings that they realized her handwriting matched the note they'd gotten exactly.

They set up temporary headquarters in the hotel's small conference room and were currently enjoying a respite from the hubbub outside now that Turner had arrived to assist. Sweets had tagged along too and was locked in a room with the show's three shrinks to try and narrow down their suspect pool.

"Please tell me you have something," Booth begged Cam when the pathologist appeared on Brennan's laptop screen just after lunch.

"Your girl was killed with a pointed object," Cam said, "but it's not a knife. Hodgins found splinters of wood in the wounds. We also found that she's recovering from a strained shoulder, but that could have come from one of the physical challenges during the game."

Someone began banging loudly on the conference room door and Brennan excused herself from the conversation to answer it.

"Where is he?" a voice boomed.

"Agent Booth is otherwise occupied right now, Mr. Thompson," Brennan said coolly, not appreciating the man's brusque manners.

"I was just told that none of us are allowed to leave the grounds," Thompson griped, straining for a glimpse of Booth.

Brennan moved to block Thompson's view and nodded, "Given the circumstances it stands to reason that the killer is in our midst."

"I have a show to run lady so I don't give a flying fu-"

He broke off abruptly, now finding himself face to face with an imposing FBI agent, who put his hands on his hips none-too-subtly revealing his weapon and drew himself up to his full height.

"We've had this discussion before, Thompson," Booth said sternly.

"About my show?" he asked cheekily.

"About my partner and how you do and do not speak to her," at this Booth's hand dropped casually to his holster. "Got it?"

The man gulped, but still had his pride to salvage, "What about my show?"

"Your show is over," Booth said with finality, "and you'd do well to start thinking about what you're going to say to the families of your two dead contestants rather than worrying about your bottom line. Staci Gettle's parents will be here in an hour. I expect you to be here with me when we break the news about their daughter."

At that, the blood drained from the producer's face and he swallowed hard as the reality of the past several days hit home. Stammering something no one could understand he backed away and fled.

"Are you really going to make him come?" Brennan asked, stepping up beside Booth.

"I might," Booth shrugged. "I just wanted him to see that this isn't a game anymore."

Behind them, the computer signaled another incoming call.

"Booth!" Hodgins' eyes were wild with excitement. "Ange got a print off the victim's clothes that you sent back."

"Got a match?" he asked, wishing that squints were better at getting to the point.

"She's one of the contestants," Hodgins went on, "and you'll never guess why her prints were in the system."

"Hodgins," Booth barked. "A name."

"Right well she was sent to mandatory anger management for slapping her secretary," the words tumbled out of Hodgins, ignoring the look that told him Booth was going to slap him through the computer soon if he didn't get to the point. "Apparently her shrink-"

"It's LiAnn Warner," Brennan said suddenly, looking at Booth. "She was present both on the island at the time of Cody Lawson's death and the hotel early this morning, and she possesses alpha female characteristics to suggest she was the leader of the alliance Sweets told us about. Plus she owns a wooden object with a point that could have made entry wounds like this," she pointed to the the picture Cam had relayed from the lab.

Booth looked from Hodgins to Brennan and back to the squint, who looked like the wind had just been knocked out of him.

"She's right," the bug man said weakly. "The print belongs to LiAnn Warner."

* * *

><p>LiAnn was in her room when they found her and she put up a strong front until Brennan moved around her and with gloved hands took the small wooden replica of a bald eagle, its sharp beak held proudly in the air.<p>

"It's a totem that would repeal the veto should her name come up," Brennan explained to her partner as they watched Turner cuff LiAnn. "When I spoke to her this morning she seemed confident she couldn't lose the game. Ruby Pike had mentioned this statue in passing during our interview. I asked Glen to explain the concept to me further today while you were interviewing people and he described this object."

"Glen?" Booth arched an eyebrow at her familiar reference to the mall cop.

"He also mentioned she had a temper," Brennan shrugged.

"Well all of that tells me _how_you did it," Booth now turned to LiAnn, circling her like a vulture. "What I want to know is why? What did Staci do to you?"

LiAnn remained stone-faced.

"She was the informant," Brennan deduced. "The one who knew who Cody Lawson's killer was. LiAnn must have found out about the note."

"Huh," Booth nodded. "So you killed Cody too, huh? Wonder what kind of sentence a double murder charge brings these days?"

"I didn't kill him," LiAnn spat.

"Then maybe Staci did?" Booth guessed. "And you helped her cover it up so you didn't want her ratting you out?"

"Cody got himself killed," the woman said, stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest.

Booth and Brennan said nothing, waiting to see what LiAnn would reveal next. It didn't take long before the entire story was recounted. Cody had indeed been attempting to make himself part of the group and the person he'd focused on to lure to his side was Staci. Staci liked Cody, at least enough for LiAnn to feel threatened about their alliance. Cody had seen the two women arguing on the dune and had stepped between them to mediate the situation.

LiAnn wasn't sure who had tried to push him out of the way first, but she swore it was an accident. They never meant for him to fall and hit his head on the rocks. Left with a dead man, they'd grabbed a tarp from the recently dismantled Red camp, wrapped him in it, and carried him where they thought no one would find him before burying him. When LiAnn arrived at the hotel only to discover Staci had grown a conscience, they'd fought again; this time with no Cody to get in the way.

B&B

The whole team, including Sweets and Turner, gathered at Founding Fathers for celebratory drinks afterward. Gibes about psychology and anthropology were exchanged until Booth declared the topic off-limits for the rest of the night. A good time was had by all until Cam downed the last of her club soda and told Paul it was time for them to go. Sweets and Turner left soon afterward, followed by Booth; who offered to share a cab with Brennan. She accepted, joking that she supposed that would be acceptable since there had been no tequila involved, but that she was getting dropped at the lab because she needed her car for the morning. They bickered about the arrangement the entire way to the door as the night swallowed them. That left Hodgins and Angela alone at the bar. Six empty barstools between them.

"I'm tired too," Angela yawned, getting up from her seat and heading for the door.

"Wait!" Hodgins called after her. To his surprise she stopped and he quickly asked, "Wanna take a walk?"

She did and while they walked mostly in silence it was at least a silence without tension as each drank in the city's night life.

"Booth and Brennan seem to be adjusting to being back in DC pretty well," he commented casually. She nodded, but said nothing so he went on. "And Turner's way better for Sweets than Daisy ever was." Again, Angela nodded silently, so Hodgins kept going, "Cam seems happy with Paul too, you know? They and Michelle and the baby are going to make a great family."

"Cam's going to be a good mom," Angela volunteered, though he couldn't read her face in the shadows of the streetlights.

"But us," Hodgins said, immediately sensing Angela pull back. He forged ahead, "Well, I was thinking that maybe we need a change."

"Like a separation?" she asked him resignedly.

"What?" he spluttered, "No! No! I mean a good change. For both of us. Here, close your eyes."

They stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and she gave him a funny look but did as he asked.

"Angie," she felt his hands capture hers and one of his curly locks brush against her face, "I love you and I know that you know that. I'm mad, over-the-moon crazy about you. But you haven't been happy since we've been back, and that makes me unhappy, and so we're both miserable and I want to change that."

He uncurled her fingers and placed something metallic and cool into her palm, then closed her fingers around it and kissed her knuckles, pulling away. She opened first one eye, then the other, then opened her palm, a glint of metal catching the light.

Across from her, Hodgins held his breath. There was a huge chance he'd just made a colossal mistake, but at the same time, he told himself, it had to be done. Something had to give.

"A key?" she asked, curious.

"You felt at home in Paris," he said quietly so as not to break the spell, "and me? I'm at home in the mansion my family's owned for generations. Maybe now that we're back," he tilted her chin up to meet her eyes, "it's time to make our own home. One that both of us can feel at home in."

His gaze swept up to the top floor of the building they'd stopped in front of and she gasped, looking at him and then back up at the building, "Did you buy the whole thing?"

"Just the top floor," he shrugged. "It's a huge studio apartment actually. Some rich artist guy had renovated it and was moving out so I pounced on it."

"For me?" Angela wanted to know.

"For us," Hodgins said softly.

A long moment passed and he feared he'd made the wrong move after all, but then a smile quirked at the corners of her lips until it spread across her entire face. The first real smile he'd seen since they'd come back.

"I love it," she said, reaching out to hug him tightly. "And I love you, Jack."

"Love you too, Ange," he murmured into her hair. "Welcome home."

* * *

><p><em><strong>When a likeable guy who never gave anyone a reason to hate him is brutally murdered, it's a case of shocking and seemingly random violence that tests the team to its limits. Join us next week for the return of Creeps McGee in The Drop in the Bucket by squinttoyou.<strong>_


	7. The Drop in the Bucket

Season 6.5 x 07: The Drop in the Bucket ~ Written by Squinttoyou

The rain fell in heavy sheets washing the street of grime and sweeping the night free of all but the most desperate travelers. The warehouse sat at the end of the road, the last building in an unused corner of the industrial park and there were no travelers past its door. Dark and wet the evening and the isolation worked to hide what happened inside. A window glowed revealing someone was here, but the rain insured that no one would see it. Worse yet, there was no one to hear. A crack of thunder sounded on the heels of a flash of lightning and for one brief moment the screams inside were drowned out by the call of nature's most powerful element.

Inside the building the air was thick, the humidity outside mixing with the terror and desperation within to form a palpable energy. A lone figure dangled from a chain hanging from the rafters above. His naked body, streaked with grime and sweat, bore the evidence of his thwarted attempt at escape. His arms ached as his weight pulled them from their sockets. Tears fell from his eyes and the desperate words falling from his lips were, he knew, his last chance to save himself.

"Please," Bruce begged. "This is crazy. Please, I'll do whatever you want; give you whatever you want."

"You don't have anything I want, Bruce."

"I have money," the captive offered hastily. "You can have all of it, the kids' college fund, the savings, the house, all of it."

"Don't be insulting Bruce, you know I don't need it."

"I do? You don't?" His question had been directed at the shadows where his captor had retreated, seeming content to watch him dangle here like some trapped fly. When his tormentor took two steps and appeared the wane light revealed a hate and anger that made him whimper. "Please," he begged.

"You don't recognize me, do you?"

The question was an accusation. Bruce tried. Desperately he searched his memory but there was no name, no memory to attach to this cold face. "Should I?"

"You damn well should! You should know exactly who I am, Bruce! Given what you did to me you should vividly remember. Or have you ruined so many lives you just don't care? Do you take what you want, Bruce? Do you never give a second thought to those you devastate?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Bruce sobbed. "I don't, I've never…I try to be fair in all my sales. I never look to make more than I should. I'm honest, I swear. If we had a bad deal I'll make it right."

"You'll make it right!" his captor screamed. "You'll make it right?" A fist lashed out connecting solidly with his head and sending his body swinging at the end of the chain while blood flowed from his split brow. "I'll make it right! I'm done allowing inferior nothings like you get the better of me! I've been too lenient, too willing to take it when someone like you does me wrong. It's not how it's supposed to be! I'm better than you! I'm superior! In every way I'm superior to you and I won't tolerate these acts any longer!"

He reached out and stopped Bruce's body from swaying. Careful not to hurt himself he used the knife in his hand to slash a cut down Bruce's rib cage. "You were the first true offender," he sneered ignoring the cry of anguish his action produced. "Oh, there were others before and they've been dealt with, but you, you did real damage. I will no longer suffer at the hands of mediocre academics or high school miscreants. It's payback, Bruce and it's a bitch!"

The words were important, Bruce knew that and he tried to swim through the pain induced haze that fogged his mind. Trying desperately to define the words that sounded like so much gibberish to his panicked brain he focused. He was no academic; he was just an average guy, a jock. At the self-imposed title his mind supplied the vision of his younger self hands on the ball and the familiar number on his chest and the words 'high school' clicked. Lifting his eyes he blinked away the salt of tears and sweat and looked again at his captor. "Wally?" he croaked as the name came to him.

He saw the response in the crazed eyes watching and knew he was right. This madman was that sanctimonious fob from high school. A kid he had given no conscious thought to in over twenty years, Wallace Benjamin Fitz, 'Wally the Wanker'. "Wally, I never picked on you. We never had any beef's. Why are you doing this?"

"Does Mrs. Marcus' Senior English Class ring a bell? Do you recall a final project?"

"That?" Bruce gasped. "Wally, come on, that was one assignment. I shouldn't have done it. But it's not worth hurting me over, is it?"

"You stole my paper, a project I had worked weeks to complete," he answered heatedly. "You put your name on it and assigned mine to that sloppy piece of tripe you called a term paper!"

"Wally, I admit it, it was wrong. Please man, don't do this. I was just a kid! I panicked. I'm sorry!" Bruce was begging and he didn't care. He would beg forever if it would ease that look in the eyes staring at him with hate. "It was ball season, Wally. We had the playoffs coming up and I didn't focus on it like I should. I know that now. Come on, Wally, I was just a kid!"

"That was my work!" Another slash of the knife opened a new gash on Bruce's thigh. "You had no right to claim it as your own!"

"I know, I know," Bruce hissed his teeth clamped tight against the searing pain. "I didn't know what else to do. I had that scholarship to college and if I didn't pass that class I was gonna lose it. I figured you could take the hit of one bad paper. You were smart!"

"A state college athletic scholarship? I was applying to Harvard! I needed a perfect GPA!" Whirling with fury the crazed sociopath wrapped his hand around the cool rubber handle he had been waiting to lift. "Because of you I didn't get in!"

Bruce saw him lift it and he felt the cold certainty as he faced his death. "Please, Wally," he begged. The first blow of the sledgehammer broke his femur and he screamed in pain. "I'm sorry!" He apologized again when the next impact crushed his ribs. He welcomed the pain in the third hit as it sent him into a sweet fog of oblivion where he remained unconscious, his mind blissfully unaware of everything that followed.

It was easier to work without the crying and a smile appeared as he swung the hammer. The skin ruptured and blood splattered. He chuckled as he watched it speckle the sledge and the floor. "One more makes forty-one," he joked to himself. He swung again and he let his movements fall into a steady rhythm as he worked.

It took only ten minutes to render Bruce into a lump of meat dangling lifelessly. "You always were a bit of a meathead," he said to the faceless corpse. "If I needed proof I only have to take a look at that report," he added. "It was terrible. About the only thing you managed to get correct was the fact that human blood type is determined, in part, by the ABO blood group antigens present on red blood cells."

He walked to the supplies still waiting and lifted the first sample. "Like this blood for instance," he lectured as he turned and held up the blood bag for his lifeless student. "This is O-type so it has no antigens at all." He flicked open the knife he had used earlier and ripped into the bag. Swinging his arm he flung the contents over Bruce's body. It coated the flesh and ran down joining the rivers of warm scarlet already dripping onto the floor.

Turning again he snatched up another bag. "This one," he continued as he opened it, "Is A-type." He doused the body and then shook the bag scattering the last few drops all over the floor. "You are B-type, Bruce. An infusion of A-blood might kill you." He laughed loudly at his own joke and picked up another bag.

"It was a sloppy report," he scolded as another sample was emptied. "You barely got through the basics of cell compatibility. You didn't mention anything about hemolytic disease or plasma compatibility." He glared at the corpse and screamed, "And you didn't even address other blood group systems!"

His fury was out of control and he slashed the bags of blood one after another emptying them on Bruce and the floor and everywhere without design. Continuing his criticism of the term paper he carried on venting at last the rage he had carried for so long.

B&B

"Why am I up at three AM?" Brennan demanded as she stepped into the hall to join him and slammed her apartment door.

"Good morning to you too, Bones," Booth answered with a slight grin. He threw his arm around her shoulder as they walked to the elevator. "Are we a little grumpy this morning?"

Brennan's glare was deadly. "I can't speak for you, but I will admit I am probably quite grumpy. I am now decidedly short on sleep."

"Well, cheer up, partner." He gave her shoulders a squeeze and flashed a happy smile. "It will be worth the interruption of your beauty sleep when you see the case we caught."

Brennan couldn't thwart her automatic response. "What is it?"

Booth grinned when he heard her curiosity. Opening the car door for her he waved her grandly inside. "Notes are on the dash," he advised in a playful lilt.

"This says the Manassas PD has an unidentified body," she accused as he took his seat behind the wheel. "That's not a federal matter, Booth. You don't need me. I don't need to be awake in the middle of the night."

"You know, I had no idea you were so grumpy in the morning, Bones," he teased. "It's kind of cute."

Brennan's cheeks pinked and she smiled despite herself. "It was the first good night's sleep I've had in days," she explained softly. "I'm sorry I'm grumpy."

"Everything ok, Bones?" He was worried now. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I've just been busy," she said waving away his concern. "Sometimes it's hard to still my thoughts and find a mental state conducive to sleep. I'm fine, Booth."

He nodded slightly to acknowledge he was satisfied with that explanation. It probably was tough to turn off a brain like hers. "Well, we are up at this ungodly hour because Manassas PD requested federal assistance with this homicide."

"Why?" she asked searching his scribbled notes for some reason. "And that still doesn't explain why you need me."

"I think you are the only way we are going to figure out who it is."

Brennan's objections gave way to her intrigue but they returned with vengeance as Booth reached the crime scene. "Why are there local cops all over my crime scene, Booth?"

"Bones!" he called jumping out of the car to follow as she stomped toward the warehouse. "They were already here, Bones," he soothed. "They called us, remember?" She glared at him and he spoke quickly to prove that had not been a joke. "I ordered them to stop and not touch anything until we got here. There isn't supposed to be a single thing disturbed, I promise."

Her eyes let him know she was mollified and they entered the scene walking shoulder to shoulder. "Good God," Booth muttered as they got their first look at the body.

Brennan made no verbal response but the way she moved as they neared let him know she was horrified. There was very little about the bloody mass of meat hanging in the center of the room that would identify it as human. She circled it slowly her sharp eyes scanning the scene for every detail. She was on her third pass when something caught her eye. She stepped forward and her foot slipped the sticky wet puddles of blood making the floor a hazard to navigate.

Booth reacted quickly and reached out to steady her. "What is it, Bones?" he asked as she regained her balance and bent forward. He flinched as he watched her force open the stiffened fingers of what had once been a right hand. He heard bones break and he wondered if that would trouble her. He was going to offer a kind word to remind her that some desecration of the body was necessary but the look on her face stopped him. "What?"

Brennan turned and held out her hand. Her latex covered fingers were smeared with blood but he ignored them. His eyes were riveted to the form crawling curiously over her palm. "Bones, is that what I think it is?"

"Chrysina aurigans," Brennan confirmed. "A golden beetle."

"All right, people listen up!" Booth shouted to the local cops scatter over the room. "This is now a federal investigation, everybody out!" He had already pulled his phone and pressed speed dial without looking. "Yeah, this is Booth," he said as soon as dispatch answered. "Put me through to the night Commander, I've got a serial killing."

* * *

><p>"Are you ready for me?" Hodgins asked. He was standing at the edge of the exam table his eyes locked on the body as he bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. "I need to get started," he added anxiously. He had been hovering like this since the moment their victim arrived. The tension and impatience he felt made it impossible to stand still and when he grew tired of bouncing he began to rock his body back and forth his attention still focused on the table.<p>

"Time is of the essence," Vincent agreed, his tumbling words an indication that he was picking up on Hodgins' emotion. "Did you know that eighty-four percent of all successfully solved homicide cases are done so in the first forty-eight hours?"

"Seriously?" Hodgins asked incredulously. "That's what we do, you know; we solve homicides."

"Oh…quite," the intern lowered his eyes in embarrassment in the face of Hodgins' vehemence. "I realize that…did you know…" he faltered as Hodgins' intense gaze moved to him, "…Honduras has the unenviable distinction of currently holding the world's leading intentional homicide rate."

"This is a homicide," Hodgins said and his attention turned back to the body Cam was examining. "And that was definitely intentional." He took a step forward. "I could start with the extremities," he suggested impatiently.

"Hodgins there is no way I can be finished anytime soon. There are dozens of DNA samples here. It's going to take a lot of work to sort it all out."

"There is so much blood," Angela observed her face revealing her revulsion. "I don't understand the point. It's like he killed him and then drowned him in other people's blood. Is that supposed to be some creepy poetic statement?"

"It's supposed to piss me off," Cam answered without looking away from the samples she gathered. "And it's working."

"Speaking of working," Jack demanded with growing impatience.

The pathologist's eyes closed and she deliberately reminded herself that they all worked toward the same goal. "I haven't even started on the tissue," she explained. "Why don't you start on the bug?"

"I already examined the bug," Hodgins snapped. "It's just like the last one. It tells me nothing!"

Angela had heard the tension in his voice and her hand curved gently over her husband's arm in a soothing touch. Jack immediately took a cleansing breath. "Cam," the artist said in a gentle suggestion. "If there is that much confusing evidence why don't you let Hodgins help? You can focus on the tissue and he can sort through the blood bath."

"Yeah, ok," she agreed.

Hodgins jumped forward eager to get his hands on the body. Vincent watched them work for a moment his face troubled. Finally, he spoke up to voice his thought. "Dr. Hodgins' impatience is obviously satisfied with this compromise. However, I feel compelled to remind everyone that I'm waiting for access to the bones so that I might prepare for Dr. Brennan's inspection and she will not be so willing to compromise."

B&B

Sweets blew across his steaming coffee cup and took a sip. As he lowered the cup, he noted Turner's scrutiny and his cheeks pinked. "What?" he demanded with a shy smile. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You always blow twice when you do that," she reported her voice soft and her eyes sparkling. "One short blast and then a longer one; it's cute that you always do it the same way."

"What's cute," Sweets answered as he leaned across the table, "…is that you watch me closely enough to notice it."

Turner responded to his move with her own adjustment and they were now only inches apart as they leaned over their breakfast. "I'm a trained agent, Dr. Sweets," she reminded him, "…I notice everything."

"Training?" Sweets teased, "That's why you watch me?"

"That and I'm a sucker for dimples," she answered with the same playful tone. "You are the cutest thing ever."

"I'd rather be sexy than cute," he objected.

"That too."

They shared a long kiss and then Sweets took another before he settled back in his chair. There was a satisfied smile on his face and he took a quick moment to appreciate this new happiness he had found. "What do you say," he said suddenly seized by an impulse, "We jump in the car and take a trip this weekend?"

"I would love to," she agreed quickly.

Sweets leaned back across the table. "Awesome," he said just before his lips brushed hers.

"Break it up, Hooch," Booth said as he slapped Sweets' shoulder and dropped into the chair next to the profiler. "Quit slobbering on my agent."

Sweets immediately jerked back into his seat his cheeks flaming red as if he had been caught doing something wrong. "What are you two doing here?" he asked voicing the first thought that popped into his mind.

"Having breakfast," Booth answered nodding his thanks at the waitress, who had appeared to pour both he and Brennan a cup of coffee. They both quickly ordered their usual and when the two couples were alone he continued. "That's usually what people do here."

"We have a case. It appears to be another Creeps McGee murder," Brennan explained.

"Bones, don't call him that!"

Brennan's head cocked as she tried to understand his objection. "Hodgins refers to him with that moniker."

"That doesn't mean you have to," Booth answered.

"I find it strikingly appropriate," she admitted giving a slight shudder. "Hodgins is quite perceptive."

"Yeah, well, Hodgins calls dumpster diving a good time."

"What does that…" Brennan began.

"Guys," Sweets called trying to end the bickering. "Guys?"

Two sets of eyes turned to him and he wondered how they could slip in and out of that intensity so quickly. "Did you need something?"

"If we are right about our suspect, this is his second killing," Booth said. "How about an updated profile taking that into account?"

"Sure," Sweets agreed. "It does change things a bit. I can have something to you this afternoon."

Booth nodded in appreciation and then looked across the table. "Good work on the blood bank tip, Turner," he complimented the younger agent.

"What tip?" Sweets asked.

Turner gave one shoulder a casual shrug. "I was at the Hoover early this morning getting in a workout. When I heard Booth caught this case I did some preliminary research. The Blood Donor Center at Walter Reed was robbed two days ago. They lost forty pints of blood."

"The presence of so much extraneous blood at the scene makes your tip quite relevant," Brennan complimented. "It is saving us time since we now have a lead to follow as I wait for Dr. Saroyan to finish her examination of the victim."

"I thought you were at home this morning?" Sweets wondered quietly.

"I was, but not everyone sleeps in like you do, sleepyhead."

Brennan grinned when she heard the fondness in Turner's voice. "I was up too early this morning as well, Sweets," she said comfortingly.

"Turner, stay available," Booth ordered. "I might need you after Bones and I check out Walter Reed."

"Lance, what's wrong?" Turner asked seeing the contemplation in his eye.

"Nothing!" he answered a bit too quickly. "What could be wrong?"

B&B

"How are you doing, sweetie?" Angela asked as she neared Hodgins. Her hand drifted over his back as he straightened from his hunch over the microscope.

"This sick bastard is pissing me off," he answered. "Throwing gallons of blood everywhere is a great way to disguise real clues. Not that I believe he actually left any."

"He will make a mistake," she theorized. "And you will find it."

"Thanks, babe."

They kissed and the way her fingers lingered in his curls made him regret the need to focus on the case. She saw his desire and gave a small smile. "You don't need me around here so I'm going to get out of here and get some things done."

"What do you mean we don't need you?"

"You don't need me," Angela repeated. "I'm no help when you are doing these kinds of tests. Anything I can help with will come later when you all find the evidence."

"This isn't more of that 'I'm not a genius' crap, is it?"

"No," she answered leaning into him as his arms wrapped around her. "I need to meet the delivery guys; they are bringing our new appliances precisely sometime between the hours of nine and noon."

"I'd go meet them, but I really need to do this," he apologized.

"I've got it," Angela assured him. "You stay here were you will do the most good. I'll worry about getting our new place ready."

"Our place," Hodgins repeated happily. "I love the sound of that."

Angela leaned into him and her words held more honesty than her previous statement. "Me too, babe."

B&B

"So, you are certain forty pints is all that was taken?" Booth asked as he made a note on his index card.

Director Sondra Culpepper nodded. "Our record keeping is systematic, we've accounted for everything else."

"I'll need the security footage," Booth continued.

"I can provide that," she agreed, "But I'm not sure you'll find anything useful. Our security is stumped and the MPs didn't have any better luck. One minute everything is fine and the next the feed goes black. There was no indication in the system that anything was wrong. We only discovered the interruption in video after the break in was discovered."

"We believe this matter is tied to a homicide investigation," he responded. "Useful or not we'll need to see it."

Culpepper responded without resistance. "Absolutely, I'll make certain it gets to you. Can I ask why you are so certain they are related?"

"The amount taken from your storage corresponds to the quantity of blood at the crime scene," Brennan explained. "With your records we should be able to match type and Ph factor to confirm."

"I'll have the records pulled and you can take that information with you as you leave," the Director offered.

Not long afterward they left, the interview with a cooperative subject and no body making this a quick stop. Booth handed over the CD with the records Culpepper had provided and opened Brennan's door. She took her seat without saying anything and he prompted her for a reaction as he climbed behind the wheel. "Penny for your thoughts there, Bones."

"What? Oh, sorry I was thinking."

"I know," he chuckled as he turned the engine over. "That's why I offered the penny."

"My thoughts are valued at a higher rate," she answered dryly.

Booth's chuckle turned to a full laugh. "Right you are, Bones. So pretend I can actually afford to pay for that big brain and tell me what you are thinking about. Was there something in that interview I missed?"

"That is highly unlikely," Brennan stated and Booth smiled at the implied compliment. "I wasn't actually thinking about that. The data on this disc will either confirm or deny our suspicion and it doesn't really require more speculation."

"Then what are you thinking about?"

"I was thinking it is nice to see Sweets so happy," she explained. "At breakfast; he looked happy don't you think?"

"He's very happy."

"I had been afraid that the pain Miss Wicks inflicted on him would have more lasting consequences."

Booth glanced at her and adjusted his hold on the steering wheel. "He was pretty devastated, that's true," he agreed. "But he moved on, Bones. He took the pain and he learned from it. Sometimes that kind of lesson only comes at that price. I'd like to think that it was worth it. He's a different man now, Bones; more aware of himself and those he might love and maybe he's a little wiser. What he knows now will help him find an even better happiness."

Brennan nodded and a timid smile tugged at her lips as their eyes met. It didn't last long, Booth turned his attention back to the road but her comment filled the silence between them. "I hope that is true."

The sound of her phone ringing broke the heavy tension and she answered on speaker. "Brennan."

"I'm not going to surprise you by saying I have nothing to report," Cam stated her underlying frustration coming through loud and clear. "But I can say Mr. Nigel-Murray has informed me that the remains are now ready for your inspection."

"We're on our way," Brennan answered as Booth accelerated.

* * *

><p>Hodgins compared the results of his latest test with the previous. "Same as last time you sick bastard," he said aloud. "You know exactly what you are doing." His hands worked in precise movements as he properly stored the sample and marked it as evidence. Years of diligence when dealing with vital information made his work routine and he let his mind consider possible avenues he had yet to try. An idea came and he jumped from his stool almost before the last sample was properly filed.<p>

The preparations didn't take long and he soon had the test processing. Unable to sit still he paced his quick steps taking him from the small lab's work table to the equipment and back again. When a buzzer announced time was up, he scurried to check the results. "Damn it!" he cursed when he saw.

"I know the feeling," Cam said behind him.

Hodgins whirled without responding and the tray of evidence he had just examined went flying through the air to crash violently against the far wall. Cam's eyes widened with surprise but Hodgins was speaking before she could. "Nothing!" he yelled. "There are no particulates because he freaking washed the victim before he killed him! Who does that? What kind of sick psychopath cleans before he kills? It's like he put the guy in a decontamination shower!"

Cam was moving toward the items he had hurled across the room and he quickly hurried to clean them up. "There are no fibers, no soil, no clues. The damn bloodbath means we have to plow through what we know is irrelevant data just to look for something we might miss. One tiny little thing that his preparations missed!"

Cam was trying to squat down and help and he shifted to prevent it. "I'll get it. If you get down here you might not make it up."

He froze as soon as he said it. Looking up he, mentally kicked himself for the tears he saw in his boss' eyes. "I didn't mean that like it sounded," he apologized all his anger gone as he tried to make amends. "Cam, I'm really sorry. I didn't think, it was supposed to be a joke, a stupid joke…you aren't fat."

She nodded quickly and turned away. "Let me know if you find anything." Her voice quivered just a bit and her steps were quick as she left his office.

"Hodgins," Jack muttered to himself. "You are an ass."

B&B

"Dr. Brennan!" Vincent called as she passed in route to her office. "I have something!"

The claim prompted Brennan to alter course immediately rather than making her planned stop and she stepped into the exam room. "What have you found, Mr. Nigel-Murray?"

The intern looked ready to burst with pride and he smiled, as he stood straight. "I have our victim's identity." He couldn't stop himself from expounding and his words tumbled out. "Normally that pleasure is reserved for Angela as she is the one who searches various databases to match dentals, missing person's reports or what have you. But, this time it was I who had the honor and I must say there is a distinct satisfaction in putting a name to the face."

Brennan was staring at him and he suddenly realized he was babbling. "Right, identity," he said turning to the body on the table. "I found a long bone fracture, in the femur to be exact, and the hardware used to repair it was traceable."

"Mr. Nigel-Murray," Brennan snapped and Vincent turned to meet her already cringing at the displeasure in her tone. "You discovered pertinent data and chose to proceed with a trace on the item rather than contacting me or Cam?"

"Well, I…I thought it would be better if I gave you the name."

"Withholding information no matter how slight or how well intentioned is completely unacceptable. Our first priority must be the resolution of the murder and apprehension of the killer and that requires that each of us supply Booth with all the information we have."

"Yes, of course. My apologies, Dr. Brennan," Vincent stammered. "It won't happen again I can assure you."

Brennan nodded but she found no satisfaction in his promise. The look of disappointment and regret on his usually cheerful face filled her with her own remorse. It occurred to her that as she resumed her old life and the lessons of Maluku became more memory than conscious thought it would be necessary to guard against slipping into her established habits. "I can appreciate your effort to exceed my expectations, Mr. Nigel-Murray," she offered gently. "It does not go unnoticed."

Vincent blinked and his jaw dropped slightly. "Thank you," he said through his stunned surprise.

B&B

Angela's phone rang and she answered as she switched to hands-free. "Hi, Sweetie," she greeted having noted the caller identification.

"Ange, where are you?" Brennan demanded with curiosity.

"I'm on my way back. I had to make a run to our new apartment and rendezvous with three burly men bearing gifts."

There was a beat of silence before Brennan spoke. "Does Hodgins know about that?"

Angela chuckled. "Delivery men, Sweetie, but thanks for the fantasy. Did you need something or did you call just to suggest that I'm stepping out on Hodgins in a big way?"

"We have an identity on the victim," Brennan answered.

"Really? Guess you didn't need me for this one."

"I need you now," Brennan objected. "The surgical implant gives us a name but I need more. I have several sets of data that I need you to process. I'm hoping to produce a simulation that will reveal more of what happened than pathology or particulate matter has thus far provided."

"Yeah, we could use that," Angela agreed. Her voice was soft as she considered how frustrating this case was, particularly for her husband. "Bren, I'm worried about Hodgins," she confided. The light ahead turned red and she slowed to a stop. "He's taking this case as a personal affront," she continued. "He thinks he should have found something the first time, with Alice's case. He's blaming himself for allowing Creeps to get away and strike again."

"That's unfounded," Brennan insisted. "We are all stymied by his thoroughness."

The light turned and Angela continued for the first time in months eager to get to work. "Yeah, well; unfounded but true. It's eating him up. He hated the way things ended the first time and it took him weeks before he would stop going over his notes looking for what he missed. Now he thinks he gave up too soon." She sighed and her voice was filled with sadness. "I don't know how to help him, Bren."

"That can be as frustrating as a lack of evidence," Brennan answered knowingly. "I have felt that way on occasions when I knew Booth was struggling with a case. The emotional pain and mental confusion that can afflict us in the course of our work is counterproductive, as is the distraction we feel as their partner."

"Wow." Angela chuckled as she turned a corner. "Suddenly you are the one with the answers."

"I don't have an answer," Brennan countered. "But I can state from observation and experience that being patient and supportive is the best course of action in such situations. And that is something I learned from you, Ange."

"I don't think you learned that lesson only through me."

"No, I have been partners with Booth for several years now and I have learned many things from that as well."

"Booth's influence or mine it doesn't matter that was great advice, Sweetie; thanks. I'm almost there. I'll have those answers we need as quickly as possible."

B&B

"Tammy Davis?" Booth asked when the door opened.

"Yes?" The blonde woman with wide brown eyes looked anxious as she waited to learn who was at her door. Tears began to well in her eyes as Booth identified himself and Brennan. "You…something happened…you found Bruce?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered as gently as he could. "I'm sorry to inform you that your husband is dead.."

Her knees buckled and both partners reached out to steady her before she toppled to the ground. Their concern seemed to help and she regained her footing. Tears continued to fall but she stepped back and welcomed them into her home. Booth led her into the living room and sat with her allowing her a moment to grieve. Brennan wandered away and he paid little attention to why until she returned and offered Tammy a glass of water. Giving her a slight smile to show his approval they both sat back and waited for this terrible moment to pass.

Realizing that they were waiting on her, Tammy eventually regained enough control to proceed. "How?" she asked her voice still shaking.

"He was murdered," Booth answered.

Horror filled the grieving wife's eyes and new tears fell. "Was he robbed?" she asked. "I knew something horrible had happened to him. When he was late to dinner, I knew. He's never late."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Brennan asked.

"Tuesday morning," Tammy answered. A sad smile crossed her lips. "He was late for work because he insisted on feeding the baby her breakfast. She was trying peaches for the first time and he didn't want to miss it." The reality of everything he would miss hit her and she sobbed. "Oh God!"

"So he left for work and that's the last you heard from him?"

"No, he called around four to say he would be home a little late. He doesn't like to do that, but sometimes if a client insists he makes an exception."

"Your husband was a salesman?" Brennan asked and regretted her words when Tammy reacted to the past tense. There was a strained silence as she nodded her answer and fought back more tears.

"When he didn't come home?" Booth asked trying to get the information they needed and end this as quickly as possible.

"It was horrible," Tammy admitted. "I was up all night worried sick. That was the night it stormed so badly and I just knew he had had an accident. He didn't answer his cell, even though I kept calling and calling. After several hours I started calling hospitals and then the police, but no one knew anything."

"Mrs. Davis, do you know of any reason why someone would want to hurt your husband?"

"No," she answered trying to focus and be of help. "Everyone loves Bruce. He's a good man. He's warm and caring and never met a stranger. He's an all-American kind of guy. The boy next door and the BMOC all rolled into one."

"The what?" Brennan asked.

"Big Man On Campus," Booth interpreted. "He was popular."

"He always thought he would be a professional athlete," Tammy laughed. "But when his injury sidelined him it was that charm and likeability that made him a success. He could sell anything because people wanted to like him."

"His injury was the broken femur?" Brennan stated rather than asked.

"Yes." Tammy's smile grew even sadder. "He hated that he had to stop, but it was the greatest thing that ever happened for me. We met in college and started dating but I had competition. When he left the team other girls started to lose interest and I ended up winning." Her tears welled again and her voice faltered. "And now I lose."

"You think it was dissatisfaction with a business deal?" Brennan asked Booth. "If he was that good at his profession perhaps Bruce angered him."

"No!" Tammy said forcefully. "Bruce would never do that. He would never take advantage of someone."

The front door opened and a woman entered. "Tammy, I saw the car in the drive, is there news?" She stopped when she entered the room taking in the shattered woman on the couch and the two sorrowful strangers seated with her. "What happened to him?" she asked.

"You are?" Booth asked carefully.

"Cindy Parson, I live next door," she answered. She moved to the couch and sat next to her friend as Booth vacated the seat. "What happened?"

"Mr. Davis was murdered," Brennan stated when it was obvious Tammy could not say the words.

"Bones, let's go," Booth called as the two women began to cry again. "Tammy, we'll be in touch," he said and her friend took the business card he was offering. "Call me if you remember anything at all about Tuesday that seems odd."

"We will," Cindy answered for her friend.

Brennan was quiet as they left and as Booth pulled the front door closed behind them she shook her head. "That was very difficult."

"Sometimes the pain is a little too real," Booth agreed still feeling the sense of loss that had rolled from Tammy Davis. "We need to get this bastard, Bones," he growled as they walked down the drive. "These people he's taking are good people. Alice was a kind, innocent woman and he killed her because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now he takes this guy, a family man, a loving husband who never hurt anyone. He's racking up some karma that needs to bite his ass hard."

"Finding a commonality in his victims might prove as difficult as discovering clues to his identity," Brennan observed as he opened her car door. "Creeps is very good and we are no closer to an answer."

"Don't do that!" Booth snapped his voice low and angry. "Don't you dare do that, Bones! Do not put this guy on a pedestal. You cannot give him some cute super villain name and assign him evil powers! He's a sick bastard who is preying on good people and we are going to stop him. We're the damn good guys, why don't you whip out our super powers?" He was yelling and his own noise silenced him. With a glare at her startled face he turned to take his place at the wheel for once leaving her to close her own door.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Booth!" Sweets called when the agent didn't stop for his first greeting.<p>

"What?"

Booth had stopped and turned to wait but Sweets approached fearfully. "I finished the profile update," he said. He couldn't help but read the irritation on the other man's face and his natural urge to counsel kicked in. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," Booth snapped and resumed his walk. He knew he was irritated, he was supposed to be irritated, he was trying to catch a really bad, bad guy. "What does the profile show on this looney tune Sweets?" he asked entering his office and expecting Sweets to follow.

Sweets did follow and he dropped a file on Booth's desk as the agent took his seat. "That's the thing to remember," he lectured. "He's not crazy."

Booth's eyebrow arched. "He's not? So, what it's perfectly rational to mutilate a body like he did this poor guy?"

Sweets made a quick gesture trying to sooth the anger he heard in Booth's voice. "No, of course not," he corrected. "What I'm saying is that like most serial killers he isn't psychotic, he still has a firm grasp of reality. He would have to in order to carry out the kind of elaborate and apparently untraceable crimes he's committing."

"They aren't untraceable," Booth objected heatedly. "Bones will find something."

"I'm sure you are right." Sweets dropped into the chair opposite as he continued. "But the way he planned them out, the complexity of it all suggests to me that he's pathologically self-centered. He's a narcissist. He's going to feel superior to everyone, but especially his victims."

"Yeah, ok," Booth said reaching for the file. "I get it. So, anything else I need to know?"

"They aren't random," the psychologist stated with certainty.

"You think the victims are connected?"

"If not to one another, then to him. This kind of violence is vindictive; he's punishing them. The woman…"

"Alice," Booth supplied quickly unwilling to let the unsolved case slip from their attention.

"Right, Alice; her death was excessively painful. And this time…" He faltered unable to imagine how painful it had been as Bruce's body was destroyed.

"Got it, he's an uncrazy, vindictive, self-absorbed son of a bitch." Booth lifted the file. "Thanks, Sweets; this helps."

When the younger man didn't take the hint in the dismissal, Booth sat back. "Was there something else?"

Sweets nodded and shook his head all at the same time so that it bobbled on his neck in a ultimate show of uncertainty. Realizing he was making a fool of himself, he took a deep breath. "If you don't have any more questions about the profile, I would like to ask you a question."

Booth dropped the file on his desk. "Is this going to be one of your shrink questions that makes me want to shoot you?"

"No! Well, maybe..."

He was uncomfortable and the way he squirmed in his chair gave Booth a silent chuckle. "I think I know what it is. This is about Turner, right?"

"Yeah."

Booth picked up his baseball and tossed it over his head. "Relax, Hooch," he teased as he caught the ball. "I might need her help, but she'll be free for a round of spin the bottle on that weekend you have planned."

"Ha." Sweets pretended to laugh. He took another deep breath and leaned forward resting his forearms on Booth's desk. "I need your help," he said as Booth gave the ball another toss. "I'm having a little trouble with the reality of being in a relationship with an agent."

Booth set the ball down. "Her gun is bigger than yours?" he joked. Sweets bit back a nasty reply and sat back. His confusion and hurt was evident and Booth regretted the joke. "What's wrong?" he asked with sincerity.

"I'm having difficulty processing my concern for her safety. Her job is dangerous, I get that, I accept it, but every time I think she's in danger I have a panic attack. Even when I don't think she's in danger, she might be. Like this morning, I thought she was safe at home wearing those cute little pajamas pants with the puppies on them and instead she's here researching crimes."

"She's hardly in a life threatening situation inside the Hoover."

"But, the point is at any moment she could be on the job. What happens if she's at the grocery store and witnesses a holdup?"

Booth shrugged. "She'd take action."

"Exactly!"

"It's part of the job, Sweets," Booth scolded. "And Turner is good. She's not going to get injured doing research online or stopping at the store for your milk and cookies. She's not going to get hurt in the field either, at least not recklessly. When I say she's good I mean it, Sweets. She knows what she's doing."

"Ok, but how do you handle it?"

"How do I handle what?"

"How do you handle it when the person you love is out there risking her life?"

The frankness of Sweets' words caught them both by surprise and the silence hung between them. There was a look of fear that flashed in the psychologist's eye as he watched Booth's reaction but when there was no explosion of temper, he schooled his features into a calm mask and waited for an answer.

Booth considered his reaction carefully. A year ago he would have blown his top over a question like that. He would have denied it. He would have resented Sweets' reminder of the failure and accused him of being deliberately hurtful. A few months ago, he would have dismissed it. He would have reminded his young friend that whatever had been was passed and they had both moved on.

But now, he could do neither. He could not deny what he felt. He could not dismiss what was happening. He might not be able to define it either, but he was working on it. Wherever he and Brennan were, whatever this was between them now, wherever they were headed, they were past the point of denial. He had feelings for his partner. It might not be exactly the same, Sweets and Turner couldn't possibly have what he had with Brennan, but their situations were similar. He could admit that.

"You believe in her," he answered. Looking into Sweets' eyes he offered a true and sincere piece of advice. "You believe in her skill and her ability. You trust that she is worthy of that pride you feel in her every day. And you cherish every second that you have knowing that with the lives we lead there are no guarantees." He stood to indicate this was all he was going to say on the matter. "Life only gives us so many chances, Sweets. Don't be afraid of the ones you get."

"Thanks, Booth," Sweets said his voice soft and contemplative as he offered his hand. He didn't look back as he walked from the office, but he did smile as he reflected on what was probably their best counseling session ever. Too bad Booth had been the counselor instead of the patient.

B&B

The Angelatron displayed the image of a body dangling from a chain. Angela shuddered as she considered how painful it would be simply to hang there. Even without the blows that had destroyed his body, Bruce would have been tortured just from the pain in his shoulders and wrists.

"Are you ok, Ange?" Cam asked with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just will never get used to seeing just how ugly humans can be."

"There is no end to examples of that," the former cop said sadly. "But this one does feel worse than some we've seen. This was ugly and undeniably painful."

"Yes it was," Brennan agreed as she and Vincent joined them. "Which I find motivates my desire to help Booth apprehend him."

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Dr. Brennan," Cam declared taking the cue to get started. "Let's see them, Angela. Hopefully there is something here that will lead us to this bastard."

Angela began the simulation. "Based on Vincent's information, it appears the injuries were inflicted in the following order." They watched as red dots began to cover the body, the first one on the right thigh, followed by a second on the lower half of the ribcage. One after another, the dots appeared until there was very little of the body not covered in red. "It makes me nauseous," Angela muttered as the simulation played to an end.

"Yeah, I thought my sense of smell made me sick, but this is worse," Cam added.

"Play it again," Brennan ordered without discomfort. Shaking her head at the way her friend could dismiss the natural reaction to these types of violence, Angela replayed the simulation. Brennan watched for a moment and then nodded as if she had reached a decision. "That was the actual cause of death," she said and Angela halted the progress. "The eleventh impact shattered the parietal bone and a large portion was forced into the brain."

"I'm going to be sick," Angela said as she turned pale.

"I can confirm that the murder weapon was a sledgehammer," Brennan announced.

"You're sure?" Cam asked quickly.

"Yes. Mr. Nigel-Murray and I have just completed an analysis of each impact. I was fairly certain, but withheld an opinion until I could verify what Angela had found." She stepped toward the large screen and indicated the first injury point. "Based on the strike pattern and evidence on the bone, I would surmise Creeps stands one-hundred-seventy-eight centimeters and is right-hand dominant."

Cam grimaced. "Five-foot-ten and right handed isn't much of a clue. That makes him as non-descript as everything else we've found. But, I guess it's more than we had before."

"Thinking positive?" Angela asked skeptically.

"For the kid," Cam joked. "I'd hate for her to be a cynic before she's twenty." Her levity faded quickly and she looked back at the on screen image. "He's average height and average handed. If he's so average, why go to all the trouble to cover everything in blood?"

"Because he's completely depraved?" Angela guessed.

The coroner shook her head. "I think there's something more to it. Hodgins and I were able to confirm all forty-one blood samples, the forty taken from Walter Reed and Bruce Davis' as well. I just can't figure out why he did it that way."

"If I might?" Vincent interrupted hesitantly.

"I'll take anything, Mr. Nigel-Murray," she agreed.

"There is something rather unique to these injuries, perhaps it's that which might stand out amongst all the ordinary?"

"I haven't noted anything," Brennan interjected.

The skepticism cowed Vincent but he stammered on despite himself. "I…well, it might be something you would overlook." Brennan's face grew cold at the suggestion she might overlook something and he hurried to finish. "Perhaps what I should say is that as an American you are less equipped to notice it."

"Spit it out, Vincent," Angela called encouragingly. "That hole is getting deeper."

"Right. Well," he said joining Brennan at the monitor. "I believe given the angle of the blows and the weapon as you describe it, Dr. Brennan, that the killer delivered the hammer in a manner uncommon to most Americans. You see," he stepped back once and swung his arms as if he held a baseball bat. "Most American's would deliver that blow to the femur in this manner. A thoroughly natural swing based on the prevalence of baseball in your culture."

"We need to work on your swing, Sweetie," Angela interrupted her expression showing disapproval in his form.

"Right, well that's my point, really," Vincent said eagerly. "Were I or any true Englishman, really, to deliver such a blow the natural instinct would be to do so thusly." He demonstrated by altering his swing. This time he stepped forward and his imaginary bat swung low before carrying through in a vertical angle."

"Cricket," Cam said with recognition.

"I concur," Brennan agreed as she watched his demonstration, "And nice work, Mr. Nigel-Murray. I believe my inexperience with either of those sports obscured my understanding of the significance."

"So, Creeps is an Englishman?" Angela puzzled aloud.

"Not necessarily," Brennan answered. "This simply suggests that he has had exposure to the game. Cricket is culturally significant in a large number of societies worldwide."

"Agreed," Vincent added feeling courageous after his success. "There are even many cricket societies here in the States. I believe most are concentrated in the Northeast."

"Upper crusts," Angela responded with derision. "If Hodgins and I have a kid he's playing baseball."

"Paul's already planning for t-ball," Cam said as she rubbed her middle. "I think after today I might lobby for the swim team."

"Swimming is extremely productive exercise," Brennan approved.

"It has fewer disturbing skill sets too," Cam joked as she gave the simulation one more glance. Shaking off her revulsion of just how the victim had died, she headed for the door.

"Mr. Nigel-Murray, please reexamine the remains this time focusing on any possible indication of the exact murder weapon."

"Right," the intern agreed. "So, just sledgehammer isn't specific enough."

"Correct." Brennan's look was one of expectation and he scurried out without voicing his thought that perhaps one hammer looked very much like all the others.

As he left Brennan turned once more to the simulation and stared intently hoping to spot something she had yet to find. "You are just going to keep looking at it, aren't you?" Angela asked.

"I may yet discover something significant," Brennan answered without looking away.

"Well, I can't keep doing that," the artist said. "I've seen more than enough."

There was an emotion in her voice that Brennan could hear but not identify and she turned to her friend with some concern. "Ange, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Your tone and the slump of your shoulders would indicate that is untrue," Brennan answered.

"Since when do you notice tone and slumped shoulders?"

Brennan didn't answer, her efforts to improve her recognition of such things was far less important than what she was seeing in her friend. "Ange, I know you are worried about Hodgins, but is there something else troubling you?"

"No. I'm great, Bren."

"If something is troubling you, I am most happy to listen."

The artist smiled gently and took her friend's hand. "I appreciate that, Sweetie. And you don't know how proud I am to hear you say something like that. But really, I'm fine. What could be wrong, right? My thoughtful husband just surprised me with the home of my dreams and has given me carte blanche to do it up just like I want. I'm living a dream, Bren. I'm fine. I promise." She squeezed the hand she held and then let go. "I'm going to go check on Jack. Turn that off when you are done please. I can't look at it anymore."

Brennan sighed as she watched Angela leave. She had thought her skills were improving, but perhaps she was wrong because she was very certain that Angela had just lied to her.

B&B

Booth pulled the chair out and took a seat across from the man in the tailored suit. "Thanks for coming in, Mr. Frey."

"Absolutely, Agent Booth," the man answered with sincerity. "Anything I can do to help. I still can't believe someone would do this to Bruce. The guy was just…he was just nice." He chuckled. "You know we used to tease him that being a nice guy really wasn't in a salesman's vocabulary, but he proved us wrong every day."

"He was a good salesman?"

"The best. Consistently at the top of our performance lists. Another couple of years and he would have been a looking at a partnership offer."

"Any idea who might want to hurt him like this?"

"No."

"Any bad sales or complaints?"

"I'm sorry, I wish there was if it would help find this guy. I just don't know what to tell you."

"Yeah, everybody loved him."

"Yeah."

The interviews were only adding to Booth's frustration. He couldn't listen to any more assurances that Bruce had been a nice guy who didn't deserve this. He didn't think anyone deserved what had been done to this poor man. But, with each promise of how everyone liked the guy the reality became harder to bear. The door opened and his final interview entered. "Have a seat, Mrs. Tarpley. I only have a few questions for you."

"Hey, babe."

Hodgins turned and smiled. "There's my girl." He was thrilled when she crossed the room and offered him a hug. She had been more attentive and open to his affection in the last few weeks but occasionally he would still see that sadness in her eyes and he worried it was not enough. Still, her effort to show her appreciation and her genuine excitement over the new house, were he thought, a good sign. Treading lightly, he tested her current mood. "How are you?"

"That's what I came to ask you," she said but her smile was enigmatic and he couldn't tell if she was dodging his question or just concerned for him. She ran her fingers through his curls and then let them scratch through his beard. "I'm worried about you."

"Why?"

"Jack you are a genius. When you play stupid it doesn't work."

"I'm fine."

"Bren thinks Booth is pretty upset by this one."

The admission caught him by surprise and he arched an eyebrow. His fingers found the seam between her top and her pants and he absently stroked them against the warm skin exposed there. "He is?"

"He gave her some speech about super villains, which I didn't quite understand with her retelling it, but she seems fairly certain he's more than irritated. Cam is struggling too; she's threatening to never let her kid play baseball."

"Ange," he interrupted unsure of what she was trying to say.

"What I'm trying to say," she continued. "Is that you aren't alone. We are all bothered by this one. The guy is horrible, maybe the worst we've ever seen, we all feel it, Jack. You don't have to do this alone. You aren't doing this alone."

"I know. It's just…It's like he's taunting me. The bugs? That seems like he's calling me out, you know? There has to be something I'm missing." He lifted the hand not touching her and ran it through his hair to still his frustration. "I just know I'm missing something."

"You will find it."

The certainty with which she said the words made his heart ache. "You think so?"

"We all think so. We have faith in you, Dr. Hodgins."

"I just need to know that you have faith in me."

Angela leaned her forehead against his and wrapped her arms around his neck. "With everything in me, my heart, my mind, my soul, I believe in you, Jack Hodgins." When she tipped her chin forward and her lips met his he believed it.

B&B

"Let's go, Bones!" Booth called as he rapped his knuckles against the bone room door. "We've got a lead."

"What is it?"

"I'll tell you in the car," he said with impatience. "Let's go!"

The abruptness of his tone made her worry. He had been angry when they parted and she could still hear his admonishment over her appreciation of the murder's complexity. Concerned that he was still irritated with her she shed her gloves and left without even giving her intern a reminder regarding her instructions.

His steps were quick as they crossed the lab and she hurried to match his stride. She wanted to know what he had learned, but her need to find if he was angry with her was more important. "Booth, I'm sorry," she said without preamble.

He stopped walking so quickly that she crashed into him. He reached out to steady her and his hand lingered on her arm. "Why are you sorry, Bones?"

"I'm sorry for what I said…about Creeps, I mean the killer. I'm sorry that I gave you the impression I admire him. Will you forgive me?"

A soft smile tugged at Booth's lips and he silently chuckled. In seven long years there had never been an instance where she apologized to him so desperately. He felt that familiar warmth in his chest and he let it fill him with the cheer only she could give him. "You don't have to apologize for that Bones."

"But you are mad at me."

This time he did chuckle aloud. "I'm not mad at you, Bones." She clearly didn't believe him and he gave her a smile that automatically created one on her perfect lips. "Don't look at me that way, I'm telling you I'm not mad." He dropped the playful tone and explained with more honesty. "I'm mad at him, Bones, not you. Come on, we have somewhere to be."

"You are certain you are not angry with me?" she asked as they fell in step once again.

His playfulness returned and he slung his arm over her shoulders. "Bones, Bones, Bones, trust me if I was mad you'd know it. Like that time you told me that my Phillies' jersey was unattractive? Remember that?" She nodded remembering the way her innocent aside about the striped shirt had prompted an afternoon of pouting. "I was mad then. Or that time you told me Jesus was a zombie? I was mad then, Bones."

"You have an interesting hierarchy regarding subjects you find offensive," she threw back as she responded to his levity. "I can praise serial killers, but your clothing and mythology are off limits."

"I'm glad you understand me, Bones," he said as they stepped into the parking garage.

"I'm trying to, Booth."

His arm tightened in a quick hug and then he dropped it so his hand rested against her back. "I know you are, Bones."

* * *

><p>Hodgins and Angela exited his office hand in hand. She had convinced him to take a short break and she wasn't letting go until she actually saw him ingest a snack. Cam was making her own way across the lab and Jack suddenly changed direction to intercept their boss. "Dr. Saroyan," he called.<p>

Cam turned and waited for them wearing a look of suspicion. "Whatever it is, the answer is no," she stated firmly. "I don't know what experiment you want to do but I know I'm just not up to it today."

"I don't want to do an experiment."

"Then why did you call me Dr. Saroyan? You only do that when you want something."

"She's got you there," Angela agreed. "You do only use her title when you want something."

"Well, not this time," Hodgins answered in an offended tone. "This time I'm giving, not asking."

"Huh?"

Hodgins let go of Angela's hand and took a deep breath. "I owe you an apology," he said sincerely. "My comment earlier was insensitive and offensive and I apologize. I never meant to hurt your feelings."

"You mean when you implied I'm a fat cow," Cam growled.

A painful wince crossed his face as Jack reacted. "Yeah. I'm really very sorry, Cam." He held out an envelope. "I want you to know that you have always been a beautiful woman and pregnancy has only enhanced that to perfection. I think you should indulge in it."

"What's this?" she asked taking the envelope he offered.

"It's a full day of luxury at the best spa in town. It's unlimited so you can have as many services as you want."

"So you think I'm so hideous I need a whole day's treatment to fix it?"

"No!" His eyes widened in panic and he looked at his silent wife for help.

"Don't look at me, you did this all on your own," she said heartlessly.

Hodgins' head swiveled back to Cam and he tried desperately to correct his second faux pas. "I swear, I'm just trying to apologize. I'm a stupid man, I want you to have fun, you deserve it…"

Cam couldn't contain her smile any longer and she let it out as she spoke. "Relax, Hodgins; I'm messing with you." She enjoyed his stunned face for a moment and then she continued. "I owe you an apology for this morning. Your comment was not offensive, it was maybe even a little true, and I know it was only a joke. Can we just chalk the whole thing up to hormones and case-related stress and forget it?"

"Gladly," Hodgins agreed through a sigh.

"I'm keeping the gift though," Cam advised him as she pocketed the envelope. "You have no idea how much I could use a bit of pampering."

"You will love it," Angela gushed eager to join the conversation now that Jack's torture was over. "Get the mud-facial, you won't be sorry."

Hodgins watched the two women walk away as they discussed the spa's best offerings. "Women," he muttered in exasperation.

B&B

"So where are we going?" Brennan asked when he merged onto the Beltway without giving her any information.

"My last interview today was Kim Tarpley."

"Bruce's assistant," Brennan said recognizing the name from the list he had given her earlier.

"Right. Anyway, she had the same reaction as everyone else mainly that the guy was wonderful and she can't imagine anyone would want to hurt him."

"The repetition of that information must have been difficult for you to hear."

Booth took his eyes from the road and look at her. She was clearly concerned for him and he again marveled at this transformation she was undergoing. She had been perfect before in her own special, squinty, maddening way, but he was beginning to imagine there was something even better coming her way. It made him immensely proud of her. "It wasn't easy," he admitted. "But Tarpley had more to say."

"Which is why we are going…" she prompted still waiting for information on where they were headed.

"She put a call through to him late in the day on Tuesday." Brennan's shift in expression revealed her intrigue and he nodded in agreement. "Probably not a coincidence."

"She knew the identity of the caller?"

"Yep, Davis' biggest client. You might be right about that bad business deal, Bones."

The anticipation and hope they felt lasted only until they reached the offices of Weber Enterprises. "You are certain of that?" Booth asked trying not to let his bitter disappointment show in his voice.

The receptionist nodded and turned her computer monitor to freely show him what she saw. "Mr. Weber and his assistant, Miss Greene, were on a plane to London at three-thirty Tuesday. I have daily receipts for meals and expenses in London and two tickets to Brussels for a flight tomorrow morning. I'm sorry, Agent Booth, but there is no way Mr. Weber had any contact with Mr. Davis at the time you specified."

Thanking her for the information the partners returned to their vehicle each struggling to face what this meant. "It is much like last time," Brennan noted quietly as Booth fired the engine.

"Yeah." He shifted and accelerated before he continued. "Alice I think was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Bruce was more deliberate. But still, he was lured to that warehouse and like Alice he had no idea what was coming or why."

"You think Sweets is right and there is some connection?"

"I hope so," Booth answered as he turned onto the highway. "Because finding that connection might be our best shot at finding this lunatic."

B&B

"Hey, Claude, do you have a minute?"

Turner looked up at the softly spoken question and smiled. "For you, I can spare two," she joked as she locked her computer. As a junior agent Turner's desk as located in the bullpen and there were several taunting hoots and off-color jokes made at their expense as she stood and joined Sweets. "Ignore them," she said softly as they walked away.

"I'm fine," he agreed trying desperately to hide the grin that came every time he realized agents were jealous of his girlfriend. They walked down the hall and Sweets let his fingers brush against hers. He would love to take her hand, but they did attempt to maintain a professional relationship in the building and he resisted the urge. "So, how's your day?" he asked as he fed the vending machine and pressed the button for her favorite candy bar. "You're working that robbery, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm not getting anything," she answered dejectedly. "I hate to let Booth down, but there's not much to go on. Who robs a blood bank anyway?"

"Hodgins calls him Creeps for a reason," Sweets said as he retrieved his Snickers and took the chair next to her.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Hey," he leaned forward much as he had in the diner at breakfast, but he again controlled his impulse to touch her. "You are doing great. I have it on the best authority that you are an awesome agent. This guy is good enough to stump Dr. Brennan and no one is smarter than her. So, don't beat yourself up over this."

"What is going on?"

"What do you mean?"

Turner sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. She studied him for a moment, her gaze suspicious and calculating and he began to fidget. "Why are you being so supportive? I said I was miffed about lack of evidence. I didn't doubt my ability as an agent. Why are you bending over backwards to give me a pep talk?"

"No reason. Forget it."

"Lance."

"I might be overcompensating as a reaction to my guilt," he said unable to take the pressure of her gaze.

"What guilt?"

Sweets sighed and tossed his uneaten candy on the table. "I'm having a few issues processing my concerns for your safety."

"My safety? Why? I haven't done anything dangerous."

"I know, but you could."

"I don't understand," Claudia said pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to puzzle her way through his words. "You are guilty about something I might do. Lance, that makes no sense."

"I know! I'm sorry!"

"Will you stop saying that!" She broke her own rule and reached for his hand. "Tell me what is wrong," she insisted softly.

Sweets looked at her hand holding his and he smiled. His thumb drifted over her skin and he felt the now familiar warm softness. "I don't think I've ever really explained to you how important you are to me. You are more than just my girlfriend, Claude. You are the woman who saved my heart. I was crushed before I met you, devastated by the loss of something that, as I see it now, wasn't really mine to lose. I thought I would never feel that way again." He looked away from their hands and into her beautiful eyes. "And then I saw you and I knew…I just knew that I was wrong. I was more wrong than I have ever been because what you give me is so much more."

"Oh, Lance," the normally brash agent's features soften with feminine pleasure.

"You are so important to me," he continued giving her hand a squeeze. "I just…I panic when I think about how your job could put you in danger. And I know! I know, that you are good at what you do and it's stupid for me to feel that way. So, I'm working on it. And I guess I overcompensated a little because I feel guilty for implying you can't do your job in a safe manner."

"Lance."

"Let me finish," he said hoping he wasn't sounding like a chump or a control freak. "I am so proud of you and all I want is for you to be the best agent you can be. The kind of agent I know you will be. The best."

"Are you done?"

"Yeah," he answered his cheek twitching as he tried to anticipate her response.

"Good, shut up," she ordered and Sweets gave a soft squeal of surprise as she kissed him.

B&B

"Those do not look like the faces of success," Cam said as Booth and Brennan entered the lab.

"Dead end," Booth reported.

Cam frowned and ran a hand over her belly hoping the loving touch would distract her from her disappointment. "Well, we probably shouldn't be surprised by that," she theorized.

"Dr. Brennan!" Vincent exclaimed as he spotted her.

The intern was hurrying toward them when a second shout pulled everyone's attention away from his excited run. His pleasure turned to chagrin as the three senior members of the team turned and answered the call from Hodgins' office. Moaning with the dilemma he now faced he changed course and followed along.

Hodgins' cry had not contained the words 'king of the lab', but it had been filled with the same satisfaction those words normally carried. "What did you find?" Cam demanded as Booth dodged out of her way and let her enter the room first.

"I got something!" the entomologist cried unnecessarily. Angela stood next to him smiling proudly and he grasped her head in his hands and planted a noisy kiss on her lips. "He messed up!"

"Hodgins!" Booth roared impatiently.

"Dr. Brennan," Vincent whispered trying to get her attention. "I have something to report."

"Not now, Mr. Nigel-Murray," she answered dismissively.

"It's the bugs," Hodgins was explaining. "At first I thought they were the same. And in almost every way they are. They have the same coloring which is indicative of diet and they have the same content in their digestive tract."

"He studied the bug's poop?" Booth scoffed to Brennan.

"Hey, I don't tell you how to shoot things," the entomologist stopped to object. "Like I said, alike in every way. Except…."

"Dr. Hodgins, please get on with it," Brennan scolded.

"The bug found with Bruce has an elevated calcium carbonate level in the exoskeleton."

"See, that's what happens, Bones," Booth objected. "You make him hurry up and explain and then I don't understand a word." He turned to Hodgins. "Why do I care about carbonite?"

"It's a beetle, not Han Solo," Hodgins lectured. "The increased calcium carbonate is the result of a change in water supply. Creeps can control their food intake, but he's made a mistake with the water."

"I would think he provides sterile water," Brennan interjected.

"I would too, but I think he's had the enclosure out in the elements. This weather we have now is perfect for them and some time out in the fresh air and sun is healthy. I think our little informant was outside with access to a slow drip of rainwater. It ran off a roof and the beetles had access."

"Great. Again, why do I care?" Booth asked.

"Dr. Brennan," Vincent tried again.

She turned an icy stare on him and he snapped his mouth closed.

"You care, G-man, because wood shake roofing made of cedar has a very distinct carbon content."

"So you can trace the location of the bug's home!" Cam cried with excitement.

"You know it!" Hodgins crowed. "The shake is used exclusively down in the river district."

"Dr. Brennan!" Vincent yelled. She turned to him and he charged on heedless of her warning glare. "I am truly sorry, but I must interrupt. You instructed me to share all data immediately and I really must insist on sharing this." He took a deep breath and tried to control his nervousness. The urge to spout some factual data was palpable and he knew doing so would only irritate the scientists currently giving him a look of disapproval. "You ordered me to determine the exact murder weapon and I was able to do so." There was a proud self-congratulatory smile on his face and he tried not to get distracted. "The particulates Dr. Hodgins pulled from the impact sites contained a post-industrial recycled paint. There is only one manufacturer of sledgehammers that utilizes such a paint."

"And Vincent can identify the murder weapon!" Cam cheered with true enthusiasm. "Progress, people!"

"Not only that," the intern bragged. "But I found that a recent police report contained mention of a stolen sledgehammer of this specific variety."

"Let me guess," Booth said with a happy gleam in his eye.

"It was a construction site down in the river district," the intern bragged with modesty. He was a little disappointed when Brennan sprinted after Booth without giving him a response.

* * *

><p>Brennan followed Booth into her office her steps slightly slower than his as she contemplated their frustrating night. Booth sighed and her gaze moved to him noting the defeated posture in his shoulders. She was worried about him. She knew he was troubled but she had no idea how to help him. He flopped onto her couch and lounged against the cushions in a slump. "Up all night and nothing to show for it," he complained as he closed his eyes.<p>

"Booth, you acted very quickly, you did everything you could." She took a seat next to him turning and pulling one leg under her so that she could face him. Her hand moved down his arm in a reassuring caress. "He was gone long before we learned where he had been."

Booth's head turned without leaving the cushion behind him and he gave her a weak smile. "I know, Bones, but thanks for saying that."

"I know you are frustrated by him," Brennan continued in a tender voice. "Please remember that you are not alone in that emotion."

Her blue eyes were filled with concern and Booth felt his spirit lift knowing it was all for him. Her hand still lay against his arm and he turned his wrist until he could take her hand. His fingers laced with hers and he gave them a gentle squeeze. "I'm never alone, partner."

"We will find him," Brennan said confidently.

"Yeah we will."

Brennan lay back her body, resting only inches from his. She was tempted to rest her head on his shoulder, but she refrained and chose the couch instead. He was still close, she could feel the warmth of his body and smell his familiar clean scent, and it gave her a much-needed sense of comfort. In silence they sat, hands still clasped, each lost in their thoughts regarding a second failed case.

A knock at the door surprised them both and they looked up to find both Hodgins and Angela standing in the doorway. "You are still here?" Brennan asked as they sat up straight. Booth released her hand and she pulled away enough to disguise how they had been comforting one another.

"No one went home," Angela answered. "At first we were hoping for good news, but as the night wore on we figured we should get back to work." Her glance at Jack let Brennan know it was the entomologist who had refused to leave.

"Did you find something?"

"I wish I hadn't," the artist answered darkly. "But, yeah, Sweetie; I found something." She crossed the room with Jack in tow and Brennan was surprised to find Cam and Vincent behind them.

"Cam, you should have gone home," Booth scolded.

"This is important, Big Guy," the weary coroner answered as she sank into an armchair. "I think all of us may be short on sleep for a while to come."

"I think I need to know what's going on right now," Booth ordered as a feeling of dread began to grow in his gut.

"I really hate this," Angela said with heat. "I just…this is the part of it I really hate."

"Angie," Hodgins said as he wrapped an arm around her. "I'll tell them," he offered.

"No. I found it, I can tell them." She paused to gather courage or order her thoughts and then began. "I had a bad feeling and it felt like I'd already followed all the other leads I could. We know Creeps killed Alice and Bruce but only because we worked both cases. I started to wonder if anyone else had seen anything like it so I did a search through the FBI database and all available law enforcement files." She took a deep breath and laid a sheet of paper on the table in front of the partners. It was a synopsis of a case file from Berkeley California. "Doctor Lauren Kellogg, Chemist at UC Berkeley. Found dead in her home her body covered in bullet ants."

Both Brennan and Booth's heads jerked up in recognition. "There is no way that is a coincidence," Booth said.

"Especially when you know the package that apparently contained the ants also held a golden beetle."

"Let me guess, the case is cold because they couldn't find any clues."

"If we can't find them no way local PD will," Cam answered.

Angela laid a second sheet on the table. "Another one?" Brennan asked.

"Todd Adams, a photojournalist from New Canaan. Connecticut," Angela reported. He was found dead in his own dark room. No clues and the case is cold. A golden beetle was found in his pocket."

A third sheet joined the others and Angela gave her final bit of information. "Sam Osman, originally from Turkey, but living the last twenty years in Philadelphia he worked as a building super. He drowned in the facility's pool but the coroner ruled it murder when they found an unknown paralyzing agent in his blood stream." She grimaced. "I almost missed this one. The beetle was found in his mouth and the cops filing the report weren't sure it was relevant."

"A PhD from Berkeley, a photographer from Connecticut and an immigrant in Philly," Booth puzzled. "How the heck are those connected?"

"They do appear quite random," Brennan agreed.

"No way," Hodgins objected. "Creeps doesn't do random. There's a reason he went after these people."

"I'm sure you are right, squint," Booth agreed. "But right now I can't even guess how it all fits together."

"Which means," Cam said forcefully as she hauled herself from her chair, "That we need to find it. I see one, two, and a half," she pointed at Vincent, "geniuses plus three rather clever normal people, who have caught their fair share of bad guys. I can't think of a better group to catch this one too."

Brennan was nodding with approval and she also rose to her feet. "Booth I'll need you to request access to each of the other victims. Ange, if you could have all pertinent data on my desk as soon as possible I'd like to review it all before I examine the bodies."

"I've already put in a request to have the beetles shipped to me," Hodgins added. "They're all dead of course, but that doesn't mean I won't find something."

"I'll get with each PD," Booth agreed. "This will give Sweets a lot more to work with, so I'll get him on it. And I'll bring in Turner so we don't lose manpower if we catch another case."

"So, we work it until we find something," Cam summarized.

There were nods of agreement all around but no one voiced the thought they all had. Just how long would that take?

* * *

><p><em><strong>When Brennan answers her old professor's call, she and Booth head south to Savannah to investigate remains found in a cemetery. Could a change of scenery be all the partners need to change their relationship? Find out <strong>**next**** week in The Mother in the Mentalist by NatesMama.**_


	8. The Mother in the Mentalist

Episode 6.5x08: The Mother in the Mentalist ~ Written by NatesMama

Brennan tapped her foot as she watched the luggage roll by endlessly on the carousel. It always seemed to work out this way, no matter where she and Booth went, he always found his bags first while she ended up searching in vain, until the inevitable…

"Bones! Your luggage is right here!" Booth pulled her rolling suitcase over to her, happy grin firmly in place. "I don't know how you always miss it."

With a resigned sigh, Brennan snatched the handle out of his hand and stalked away, mumbling her thanks under her breath. Booth ran slightly to keep up, one hand cupped over his ear.

"What was that, Bones? Was that a 'thank you'?" He chuckled when his partner turned around and glared. "Why, Dr. Brennan…where are your manners?"

"Could we get to the rental counter so we can get out of here, please? I have a body to examine." Looking around at the signs for a direction, Brennan pointedly ignored Booth as he came to a stop next to her.

Booth reached in vain for her suitcase, knowing she would shrug off his offer. With a grin, he pointed towards the front of the airport, leading the way. "You need to relax, Bones. Enjoy the scenery. Savannah is a beautiful city; we should enjoy some of it while we're here."

"How would you know?" She was still a little miffed at his easy, carefree attitude. "When were you in Savannah, Booth?"

"During Ranger training. Fort Benning is about five hours from here, and we took the drive one year for the St. Patrick's Day celebration, which is legendary. I ended up coming back so I could see what the city looked like when it wasn't dyed green and I wasn't completely plowed." Booth grinned at the memory as he stepped up to the rental counter and reached for his wallet, where he was unceremoniously bumped aside by his partner.

"Booth, I am renting the car. You will just try to get some kind of two-passenger sports car that is a paradigm of how desperate you are to cling to your waning youth, yet completely impractical for our needs on this trip." Brennan pulled the paperwork over to her side of the counter and began entering her information.

"Bones…" Booth sighed and turned to glance out the floor to ceiling windows behind them. He could see from his vantage point that there was, indeed, a 2011 cherry red Corvette sitting in the rental lot. He could practically hear it calling his name. Looking back at Brennan, he crossed his arms across his chest. "My youth is not 'waning'. I'm still a young man, relatively speaking."

"You just turned forty, Booth. Anthropologically, you would be considered an elder of the tribe in most cultures." Brennan had her back turned, so she didn't see Booth sticking his tongue out at her petulantly. The rental car clerk, however, did not miss it and his snicker clued Brennan into Booth's childishness. She turned her attention to the clerk. "He is making faces behind my back is he not?"

"Yes, ma'am." He replied, squelching his urge to laugh when Booth glared at the supposed betrayal.

Accepting the car keys and taking her credit card back, Brennan turned and regarded Booth carefully. "Perhaps you are right, Booth. Your behavior indicates that you are, most certainly, not quite a grown-up as of yet." She grabbed her suitcase and walked towards the exit.

"You admit that I'm right, but somehow, when you say it like that, it doesn't sound like I won at all." Booth sighed, following in her wake with less than his usual enthusiasm.

When they reached their completely serviceable four-door sedan, Brennan decided that her pouting partner had suffered enough and tossed him the keys, and his heartfelt and completely goofy cheer as he popped the trunk only solidified her decision. She watched as he placed their suitcases in the car, feeling a pang of regret thinking of how such small gestures always made Booth smile, but that she herself failed when he had asked her, all those months ago, for the one thing that he thought would make him truly happy. Shaking off her depressing thoughts for the time being, she made an effort to return Booth's grin as he unlocked her door and ushered her inside.

"Where to, Bones?" Booth asked as he backed out of the parking space. "The crime scene? The hotel?"

"No, we can go directly to the morgue, actually." Brennan tapped the GPS to activate it, checking her list for the address.

"Really? You don't want to go and make sure everything is done to your specifications?" Booth was surprised, generally he had to pacify her by being the go-between for her and whatever law enforcement agency with which they had to share jurisdiction.

Brennan barely blinked at Booth's question. "Dr. Worthington has everything collected from the scene, and since he was the one who taught me everything I know about cataloguing remains, I feel confident that everything has been taken care of."

"Oh yeah…are you excited about seeing your old professor? How long has it been?"

Brennan pointed out the exit they needed to take and then pointedly looked out the passenger window as she spoke. "It has only been a few years since we've seen each other, but it has been about thirteen years since he was my instructor. Professor Worthington was my mentor in skeletal biology and osteology and…" She stopped for a moment, seeming to consider her words.

"What, Bones? You were going to say something else…" Booth glanced at her quickly as he slowed for a stop light.

A small smile crossed her face. "He was the only instructor I ever had that was truly nice to me. He and his wife Sara used to invite me to dinner quite a bit. I think he thought I wasn't eating properly."

Booth shared her grin as he turned into the Chatham County Coroner's office. "I think I like this guy already."

* * *

><p>"So, let me get this straight…" Angela strolled into Cam's office, completely disregarding the fact that her boss had her face buried in a double cheeseburger. "Booth went to Georgia with Brennan, correct?"<p>

Cam nodded, mouth full of cheesy, beefy goodness.

"And Bren was called in because her former professor asked her to examine a set of remains found just outside Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah, correct?"

"Mmmhmm."

"And the cemetery is not on federal land, right?"

Cam swallowed. "Nope."

"So…" Angela smothered a grin as the other woman shoveled a handful of fries in after the burger.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Angela." Cam was preoccupied with the meal in front of her and wasn't really in the mood to play another round of 'When Will Booth and Brennan Wake Up And Smell The Coffee' with your host, Angela Montenegro-Hodgins'. "All I know is that Dr. Brennan was asked to consult, the board was happy to accommodate her, and I signed off on it. Whether or not Seeley decided that he had to 'keep an eye on his partner' is none of my concern. The big question here is where's my apple pie?"

Angela watched, amused, as Cam searched frantically through the carry-out bags in front of her before she gave a triumphant shout and pulled out a Styrofoam container full of the erstwhile pastry. "Alright, but I'm telling you…the two of them have been really weird lately. Something is up, I can feel it."

Sighing, the suddenly very-full Cam dropped her plastic fork to the desk. "Well, maybe Booth decided to go with Brennan so that they could have a nice, romantic weekend in a beautiful city without prying eyes or nosy artists hanging over their shoulders." She snorted, amused, at Angela's completely manufactured attempt at affront, leaning back in her chair in victory as the other woman joined in the laughter at her expense.

"Alright, alright…maybe, just maybe, I might push Brennan a little hard where Booth is concerned." She took the chair across from her boss's desk. "But you have to admit, at least a little, that we all thought when they came back from their trips that they would…you know?"

Cam nodded. "I know. They would come back, reunite, and finally be a real couple." Sighing, she laid her hands over her expanding middle. "Maybe it's the hormones, I don't know. I just wish one of them would make a move. Put us all out of our misery."

"Yeah." Angela contemplated Cam's words for a moment before standing and moving towards the door. "Well, if you ask me, it ain't happening anytime soon. They're both just as oblivious as ever."

Cam nodded her agreement before grabbing an errant French fry from her desk and munching thoughtfully. "I know, right? My kid will be married before Booth and Brennan ever get their act together."

B&B

When he'd heard that they would be examining the remains in a relatively small county, Booth pictured a work area a lot tinier and less up-to-date than the Chatham County Coroner's office. To his surprise, Booth recognized quite a few of the state-of-the-art instruments that Cam used at the Jeffersonian, so when he found himself leaning against a gleaming counter, watching Brennan inspect the bones in front of her, he almost felt at home. He was even enjoying the impromptu conversation that the entirely personable Dr. Robert Worthington had struck up as soon as his partner became immersed in the one thing she was born to do best.

"So, you and Temperance have been working together for seven years?" Worthington smiled in a way that Booth knew belied the older man's pride in his former student.

"Almost eight, time-wise. We both took a year-long sabbatical, and we just got home a few months ago."

"Ah, yes. The Maluku project. I was excited to hear that Temperance was chosen to head the team. Of course, if they wanted the best…"

Booth nodded. "They needed Bones."

"Exactly." Worthington chuckled. "I love the fact that she allows you to call her 'Bones'. It speaks of an affection I am happy to see her accept. She can be a very stubborn woman when it comes to the usual social mores, like nicknames."

"Is that why you call her 'Temperance' and not 'Tempe'?"

"No, not really. I've just never liked the way it sounded. To me, she was always Temperance. A beautiful name that I find sinful to truncate. Wouldn't you agree, Agent Booth?" He gave the younger man a knowing look.

"Please, just Booth is fine. And yes, it is. A very beautiful name." At the other man's look, Booth grinned. "I know, I know…but when we met, I was trying to get…uh, I mean…you know, build a rapport with her. A nickname seemed like the fastest way to do that."

"Interesting way to go about…getting to know someone." Worthington did nothing to hide the delighted grin that spread across his face. "It sounds as though Temperance didn't mind the name."

"Well…" Booth chanced a look at Brennan, still bent over the remains across the room. "At first, no. But after our first case, we ended on a bad note and didn't talk for almost a year. Then it took about a month to get her to quit telling me not to call her Bones, and another year and a half before she was referring to herself as Bones." He grinned at the memory. "I don't think she even realized that she did it."

"It sounds as though you are close friends. That's lovely; I worried about Temperance when she left school." He leaned into Booth conspiratorially. "People who don't take the time to get to know her find her aloof and sometimes cold. It makes me happy that she has someone in her life that knows better."

"I know. And her whole team at the Jeffersonian are like family. They know, too." Booth cleared his throat at the sudden wave of emotion he was feeling. "We know her."

"Good." Worthington nodded, then turned back to address his former star pupil. "Temperance, dear, is there anything I can help you with?"

Brennan came out of herself and acknowledged her mentor. "Not as of yet, but…Booth? The victim had a hip arthroplasty sometime in the last five years. We can use that to identify her, there is a registration number etched into the plastic."

Booth took out his note cards and nodded. "A hip replacement, got it. Do you have the number, Bones? I can call Angela and she could probably have it within the hour."

Dr. Worthington shook his head. "I am sorry that our servers are down, Temperance. Ordinarily, we would be able to get that information on our own."

"It's no problem, Robert." Brennan removed her gloves and handed Booth a slip of paper. "Angela will be able to find the information just as quickly. And I'm sure she's probably bored with limbo cases, so this will give her something else to do."

"Limbo?"

"Modular bone storage." Brennan grimaced. "I'm sorry, I know that it's disrespectful, but the nickname has become habit with my interns since –"She faltered for a moment, remembering her brightest intern and his fondness for the odd nickname. "They seem to appreciate the shorter moniker, in any case."

"It doesn't bother me in the slightest, Temperance. You know I have a morbid sense of humor." He looked to Booth. "Sometimes you need it in this job."

"You don't have to convince me, Doctor. I'm a cop, we invented bad taste humor."

Worthington laughed. "Oh, I know. The police around here are the worst…which means they have the best jokes." Looking around, and then patting his shirt pocket absently, he found his keys on the counter behind Booth. "Ah, there they are! Temperance, my dear…I am so sorry I can't spend the evening in your delightful company, but I have a previous engagement. Would it be possible to have lunch with the two of you tomorrow? There is a nice little place called the Cobblestone Café? It's on Lower Factor's Walk at River Street and Barnard Ramp. You should be able to find it easily."

"That sounds wonderful, Robert." Brennan looked to Booth, who nodded in agreement. "We'll meet you there at noon?"

"Perfect." The older man leaned forward to accept a quick cheek kiss from Brennan, simultaneously shaking Booth's hand. "I will see you both tomorrow. Don't worry about locking up; the night shift cleaning crew will do that. Have a good evening!"

After Worthington exited the morgue, Brennan began removing her borrowed lab coat. "Are you getting hungry, Booth? I thought that after we got that information to Angela, we could go somewhere and get some dinner."

"Sounds good, Bones." He reached over and slid the coat from her shoulders. "Give Ang a call and I'll go pull the rental around to the entrance."

"Thank you, Booth." Brennan smiled at his retreating back as she dialed Angela's number.

* * *

><p>Sweets wandered into the Medico-Legal Lab looking for someone to talk into going to dinner since, with Booth out of town, Claudia was working with another SSA who had no qualms about keeping her in the office as late as possible, and he was on his own. Heading past the platform, he noticed that the only office with the lights on was Angela's. Once he reached the threshold, he found the artist standing in front of the Angelatron, computer pad in hand, obviously talking on the phone.<p>

"Sweetie, I've been to Savannah and the pizza at Vinnie VanGoGo's is the best! Trust Booth on this one, it may be crowded, but it's so worth it!" Sweets watched as Angela's face broke out into a wide grin. "Booth is right, the courtyard is really nice. You could order your pizza to go and sit outside and eat it in the fresh air." She quieted as Brennan spoke. "Alright, Bren. Just try to enjoy the city. It really is beautiful. Yes, I've been there…remember, my dad used to take me out on tour with him. I've been almost everywhere." She paused as the Angelatron beeped. "Hang on; I think we have an ID on your victim."

Sweets watched, mesmerized, as the large computer screen slowed and a Georgia driver's license appeared onscreen. Angela began reading the information to Brennan over the phone, but Sweets attention was centered on the image in front of him and he could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart and the blood rushing in his ears. "Yeah, her name is Bonita Calloway, age 47. It looks like she was living in a boarding house on Park Avenue, I'll send the information to your phone."

Angela turned and saw Sweets standing there, staring at the screen. "Hey, Sweetie. Sweets is here, let me call you back, okay? Oh, no…we can talk tomorrow. Let me know if you need anything else from me, alright? Alright. Goodnight, Bren. Tell Booth I said hey." She disconnected the call and scrolled through her onscreen functions to save the information she had just uncovered. Turning to speak to Sweets, she was surprised to realize that she was, once again, alone. She stepped to the door of her office just in time to see the young doctor exiting the lab as though the devil himself was chasing him.

"Sweets? Hey! Where are you-" Angela sighed, realizing that he could no longer hear her. "Well, that was weird."

B&B

The next morning, Booth and Brennan met in the guest services room near the lobby of their hotel to grab a quick Continental breakfast before heading out for the day. After receiving Angela's information on their victim the night before, they had made an appointment to speak to the woman who ran the boarding house where Ms. Calloway lived. Brennan was anxious to get the toxicology reports from Dr. Worthington, as her inspection of the bones showed no obvious cause of death. She was leaning towards natural causes, but she wanted the lab studies to confirm, so for the moment they were playing a waiting game…and Booth suggested they take in a few sights while they had the time.

Of course, Brennan was most interested in Bonaventure Cemetery, and while normally Booth would roll his eyes, even he could see the historical significance of the visit as well as the unspoken personal need and was more than happy to indulge her. They wandered the rows of the century-old cemetery, noting the more famous graves such as songwriter Johnny Mercer and poet Conrad Aiken, the partners both expressing disappointment that the famous "Bird Girl" statue, made famous as the cover of the book 'Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil', had been moved to the Telfair Museum after the book was released.

Brennan led Booth to a far corner of the grounds, where the most important reason for their visit lay. Brennan stood quietly in front of Sara Worthington's ornate marker and made an effort to speak to her friend out of deference to Booth and respect for the woman who was buried in front of her. Booth walked several feet away to give her some privacy and to make her more comfortable.

"Hello, Sara. I-" Brennan took a breath and looked skyward for inspiration. "I am trying not to feel silly, because you meant so much to me, but it's hard. Booth says I should do this so that you know that I remember you, but…I know that you are aware how much your friendship and acceptance got me through some very difficult times. And I will forever be in your debt." She paused again, stealing a glance at Booth, who was reading a marker a few yards away and trying very hard to look as though he was not listening. "Do you remember that conversation we had when you found out about Michael? You told me that I deserved better? I never gave your words much credence then, but now…" Brennan looked directly at Booth this time, not hiding the fact that she knew he was eavesdropping. "Now, I understand. And you need to know, I've found that. And I have you to thank. So…thank you, Sara." She turned away and started walking. "Okay, Booth. You can quit pretending not to listen now."

Once they had seen everything Brennan deemed important in the old cemetery, they headed into town to meet up with Dr. Worthington for their scheduled lunch date. Once inside the small, intimate café, Robert was easy to find among the other diners.

"Temperance…Booth! How was your first night in Savannah?" He pulled Brennan's seat out for her as Booth settled next to him at the table.

Brennan smiled at her former instructor. "It was lovely, Robert. The Planters Inn is a wonderful hotel. Thank you for recommending it."

"I have to agree. Nicest hotel I've stayed in a long time." Booth grinned as he picked up the menu in front of him. "Now, what should I have? Gotta be breakfast, since they serve it all day."

"I would recommend the Cobblestone Casserole, Booth. It's a fairly hearty breakfast, what they call up North 'trash potatoes'."

"Oooh. I love that." Booth closed his menu and looked to an amused Brennan. "That was easy. What are you having, Bones?"

Shaking her head, Brennan perused the menu. "I was trying to decide between the Belgian waffles or the Eggs Benedict."

"Definitely the waffles, Temperance. And make sure you have them top it with pecans and maple syrup. It's wonderful." Robert closed his menu as well. "As for me, I believe I will have the Philly Cheese Steak sandwich."

Booth rolled his eyes, affronted on a personal level that any place outside of Pennsylvania would claim to be able to replicate his beloved hometown signature hoagie. Glancing at the menu, Booth groaned. "Come on, Robert. Mozzarella cheese on a Philly? That's just all kinds of wrong."

As the men debated the advantages of the unnaturally bright orange Cheeze Whiz over actual, real cheese, Brennan glanced around at the décor of the tiny café. The décor was very simple and rustic, and although it was not Brennan's usual type of place, the company more than made up for what the atmosphere lacked.

Robert drew Brennan back into the conversation by asking about their work back in DC, and they filled quite a bit of the time between when their meals arrived to when they were enjoying their last cups of coffee with stories of former cases, as well as a few anecdotes about their respective trips abroad. Robert seemed particularly interested in Booth's return to the military.

"That's extraordinary, that you were literally pursued to come back. It's very impressive, Booth. I myself have always been fascinated with military history, but I was unable to serve due to a childhood illness. It didn't stop me from trying to enlist, however."

Brennan smiled. "You and Booth would have much to talk about; he is also an aficionado of military strategy."

"Well…" Booth shook his head slightly. "I do like to read about it a little. Not really a scholar, though."

Brennan once again let her thoughts drift as Booth and Robert discussed great Revolutionary War battles, a topic that normally would appeal to her as an anthropologist, but held no interest for her today. She was much more fascinated with people watching at the moment. As the men spoke animatedly about the Battle of Brandywine, Brennan's attention was caught up in a couple standing at the door, apparently waiting for a carry-out order. The woman tipped her head up to look at her paramour, a contented smile on her face. But it was the man's expression that had Brennan catching her breath. He was gazing down at the woman with such a devoted, loving look…a look Brennan herself had been on the receiving end of on more than one occasion. A warm, contented feeling crept into her chest, and she felt the beginnings of a smile cross her face. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she never heard Booth calling her name.

"Hey…Bones? Bones? You in there?" He waved his hand in front of her, giving her a confused look.

"Oh…" Robert smirked as if he knew exactly what she had been thinking. "I'm so sorry. I guess I'm still a little tired from the flight yesterday. My mind was elsewhere."

"That's okay, Bones. I was just telling Robert that we need to get going over to the victim's boarding house to speak to the landlady, and then maybe you and I can make plans for later?"

Brennan was confused by Booth's expectant look, but stood with the men as they moved to exit the restaurant. She made arrangements to go over the lab reports once they came in as they said their goodbyes to Robert, then began walking slowly towards where Booth had parked the rental car. As they waited to cross the street, Booth glanced nervously at Brennan, a look she didn't quite recognize on his face.

"Hey Bones…how would you feel about maybe going out for a nice dinner tonight?"

"Really?" That warm feeling in her chest was back in full force.

"Sure. I mean, I basically invited myself along on your trip even though I didn't need to be here, you've indulged my alpha male tendencies by letting me drive…the least I can do is buy you a nice dinner." He smiled and nodded, the effect being that she would have given him anything he asked for at that moment…not that he needed to know that.

"Alright." She tried to sound aggrieved, but her grin gave her away. "I suppose you do owe me."

"There ya go, Bones. I knew you'd agree." He threw his arms over her shoulders as they crossed the street. "What do you say we go do this interview and then head back to the hotel? I hear they have a nice spa, you can go get all girlied up and then we can go have some dinner. Sounds good?"

"That sounds wonderful."

* * *

><p>As they left the boarding house where Bonita Calloway had lived before her untimely death, Brennan received a call from Robert, letting her know that the tox screens were back.<p>

"She had traces of ipratropium bromide, glycopyrrolate and pramipexole dihydrochloride in her system when she died. Not so much as a trace of any other foreign substances. Obviously, she had some medical issues." Robert sounded genuinely sorry for the woman.

Booth raised an eyebrow at Brennan in question, so she quickly explained. "Ipratropium bromide would most likely have been to treat chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, commonly known as COPD. The glycopyrrolate would have been used to treat COPD as well, although they are not normally prescribed together."

Robert, who was still on speakerphone, interjected. "It's possible that her doctor had recently switched her from one med to the other, and the former was still in her system."

"True." Brennan nodded.

"What about the third one?" Booth asked.

"Pramipexole dihydrochloride. The only use I know for that drug is for restless leg syndrome. Robert?"

"Well, there are actually a few proven uses for it. Parkinson's, fibromyalgia, sexual dysfunction." He paused. "I know for a fact that it has seen some promising effects on bipolar disorder in a trial study they have been conducting at South University."

"That might be the one, Robert. Her landlady said that she had what she termed a 'mental disorder', so it's possible she was bipolar." Booth looked troubled. "And this is good information, but it really doesn't tell us what happened to her."

"Actually, Booth…" Brennan looked uncomfortable. "I have a…theory."

Booth laid his hand on his chest in mock surprise. "Excuse me? Dr. Temperance Brennan has a…" He gasped melodramatically. "_theory?_ I never thought I would live to see the day!"

Brennan glowered. "If you keep that up, you might not."

Properly chastised and ignoring Robert's amused chuckle over the phone, Booth waved at Brennan to continue. "Let's hear it, Bones."

"Alright…according to her landlady, Ms. Calloway left her home in the early morning hours of August 28 of last year, after telling another resident that she was heading out for some groceries. That was the last time, as far as we are aware, that anyone saw her." Brennan looked to Booth, who nodded for her to go on. "I am sure that August in Georgia is even hotter than it is in DC, so unless there was a cold snap it was probably anywhere between ninety and one hundred degrees, weather-wise."

Robert broke in. "Ah, Temperance…I see where you are going with that." He paused for a moment. "And I've brought up the temperatures from last year; it was over a hundred degrees consistently that weekend in Savannah."

"So it's possible, Robert?"

"I would say more than possible. The most probable cause of death we've been able to come up with thus far."

"What?" Booth was getting a sense of déjà vu. It was just like being in the lab and once again having no idea what was being said around him. "What did she die from?"

"I believe she died from hyperthermia."

Booth shook his head in confusion. "How could she have frozen to death? It was summer!"

"That's hypothermia, Booth. Hyperthermia is heatstroke, which was exacerbated by the medications she was taking. Medications that naturally increase your internal body temperature. It's very possible that she went to the cemetery to get some air, was overcome by the heat, and passed out. Because that part of the cemetery was being renovated, no one was around, and she died from excessively high body temperature." Brennan looked hopefully at Booth, who was nodding in agreement.

"That's a damn plausible theory, Bones. And because she fell outside the cemetery walls, the workers never saw her there. It's the best explanation we've got."

The three were silent for a moment, each imagining the lonely death of the solitary woman they only knew from her bones and the small history she'd left behind. Robert broke the reverie with a question for Booth.

"Was the landlady able to help you find out anything specific about her? Did she have family?"

Booth shook his head before he realized he was talking to the disembodied voice on the phone. "Not according to her records or her landlady. Both parents passed when she was sixteen, no siblings, she escaped the system by, get this, joining the circus."

"Really?" Robert sounded delighted. "That's fascinating. What was her act?"

"She was a fortune teller." Booth smiled a little. "You know, the tent and the crystal ball…the whole shebang. There was a small picture of her with some of her fellow carnies in her effects, and she wore the whole outfit, complete with turban. She was committed."

"I always dreamed of running away with the circus." Robert said, wistfully. "It looked like a lovely sort of way to live."

Booth paled slightly. "Yeah, not me."

"Booth has coulrophobia. He would not be happy at a circus."

"Why do you always have to bring that up, Bones? Huh?"

"Why? It's true. It's nothing to be ashamed of, everyone is afraid of something."

They bickered back and forth for a few minutes, completely oblivious to the stares they were receiving on the street and the laughter coming over the phone line. Once the argument had run its course, they both looked sheepishly to the device still held in Brennan's hand.

"I apologize, Robert. Booth and I tend to get caught up in our arguments now and then."

"Don't apologize on my account, it reminded me of the spirited debates I would have with my Sara." He sounded both amused and wistful.

Brennan looked pained. "Robert…I-"

"Temperance. It's okay. I know." He paused, thankful for a reason to focus elsewhere. "Right now, we should be concentrating on Ms. Calloway. If you don't mind, I will do some investigating and find out if her family doctor is local. Hopefully professional courtesy will allow him or her to confirm our suspicions, and we can put her to rest."

Booth answered for both of them. "Thanks, Robert. We appreciate it. If you need anything give us a call. We're going out to dinner, but we'll be available for anything."

"I don't believe I will need to disturb your evening, Booth. You both go…enjoy the rest of the day." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "And Temperance…relax and have fun tonight. Alright?"

Brennan looked quickly at an expressionless Booth before answering. "I will, Robert. Thank you. Goodbye."

Booth gave her a moment to pocket her phone and collect herself before wrapping his arm around her shoulders again and propelling her towards the car. "Come on, Bones. Let's go get you pampered and relaxed, and then we'll go have a nice meal…on me."

"That sounds perfect." She flicked a quick glance his way, her gratitude at his understanding shining in her eyes. "Thanks, Booth."

"Anytime, Bones. Anytime."

B&B

When Booth and Brennan arrived at their hotel, neither was paying attention to anything but each other. A casual observer would have said that they were a couple, headed upstairs for a little afternoon delight, and not separate rooms to prepare for what felt, to both of them, like a first date.

So it was understandable that they almost missed the slumped form of Sweets sitting in the lobby, obviously waiting for them. "Booth! Dr. Brennan!" The young doctor jumped up and grabbed their attention, ignoring their wide eyes and somewhat guilty expressions. "I need to speak to both of you."

Booth recovered his composure first. "Yeah, Sweets…that's what they have phones for. Speaking with people far away. We don't have to jump on planes anymore to have a conversation."

Ignoring Booth, Sweets turned to Brennan. "I need to speak with you about your victim."

Brennan shook her head. "Dr. Sweets, we've already drawn a preliminary conclusion that she died of natural causes and not foul play. We are not in need of a psychological profile…this isn't even an FBI case, Booth is here simply to sightsee and to keep me company."

"N-natural causes?" Sweets choked out. "Are you sure?"

Booth's eyes narrowed, picking up on something in Sweets' demeanor that spoke of more than an over-enthusiastic need to help with a case. "It's a working theory right now. But you're not here for a profile, are you, Sweets?"

Sweets nodded. "I-" He looked around frantically for a moment. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Yeah, sure." Booth pointed to the entrance to the hotel bar, shooting Brennan a look that told her to go along with it for now. Despite her confusion, she trusted Booth's judgment and followed obediently behind the two men as they made their way into a darkened corner of the establishment. They slid into a booth, with Brennan in the middle, Booth waving off the waitress as she appeared.

"Alright, Sweets. What's going on? You've got our attention."

Sweets' eyes darted back and forth between Booth and Brennan, trying to decide who would be the most sympathetic to his cause. Settling on Brennan, he looked her in the eye as he revealed his reason for being in Savannah. "Bonita Calloway was my birth mother."

Brennan sucked in a breath and immediately reached out to grasp the younger man's arm. "I am so sorry, Sweets."

"Yeah." Booth's voice was rough and low. "I'm sorry, kid."

"Thanks, I…I never met her. I tried, you know. I looked all over Florida and Mississippi and a couple other states years ago, trying to track down whatever circus she was running with, but it seemed like I always just missed her." He cleared his throat nervously. "It was hard to get the carnies to talk to me, you remember…" Both nodded in agreement. "And the ones I did get to talk were pretty vague. I knew her stage name at one point, but she changed it a few times, so…"

"It got harder and harder to track her on your own." Brennan smiled sadly.

"Yeah." He shook his head. "I wasn't working with the FBI at the time, and I was still in college and…there wasn't extra money to hire anyone, so I was on my own."

"Is that why you're here, Sweets? To find her?" Booth asked softly.

Brennan's brow furrowed. "But, it's too late now, Booth. His birth mother is-" At her partner's look, she stopped. "Too literal."

Sweets went on as if Brennan had never spoken. "Yes, I want to find out about her, if that's possible. I know this isn't an FBI case, and I'm not technically her next-of-kin…"

"Actually, you are her next-of-kin. She never married, and she had no other children. Anything you want to know, it's yours, Sweets." Booth reached down next to him and pulled out the case file. Handing it across the table, he kept a grip on the folder as the younger man held his end. "If you need any other information, anything…I can find it out for you. All you have to do is ask."

Swallowing over the sudden lump in his throat, Sweets nodded. "Thanks, Booth."

The partners watched as Sweets flipped through the folder, stopping to stare at the driver's license picture enclosed. "You know, Sweets…we spoke with the landlady at the last place your mom lived, I could run you over there. She was nice, and she knew your mom a long time. She could probably tell you a lot about her."

Blinking to fight a sudden rush of tears, Sweets nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that. But not today." He stood suddenly, clutching the file like a lifeline. "I, uh…I checked in here, if you guys don't mind, and I think I just want to go upstairs and get settled, maybe order in some dinner."

Booth glanced at Brennan, who nodded slightly. "Sweets…we were going to go out later for a nice dinner, you're welcome to join us."

"No." He half-smiled at how conciliatory Booth was being. "Thanks, but…I think I just need some time alone."

"We understand, Sweets." Brennan replied, and he could see in her eyes that she did. "You should call Claudia, however."

Booth smiled with pride at how Brennan instinctively knew that Sweets would need his girlfriend at a time like this. "Yeah, give Turner a call; let her know how you're doing."

"I will. I…sort of left without telling her where I was going." He looked sheepish. "I'll call her as soon as I get upstairs." He turned to head out of the restaurant, then thought better of it and stopped to face his friends again. "Guys, I-just, thanks. I know this isn't exactly protocol, so I appreciate you giving me all this information."

"Of course, Sweets." Brennan smiled softly. "And maybe we can meet for breakfast tomorrow before you go to speak with your mother's landlady?"

This time, Sweets' smile was full and genuine. "Sure, Dr. Brennan. I'd like that. I'll see you then."

They both watched closely as Sweets walked from the restaurant, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Booth shook his head and waved the waitress back over. "Poor kid. All he wanted was to know his mother, and now…"

"I know. I feel terrible for him, Booth." Brennan paused while Booth ordered them both a cup of coffee, and then continued. "Isn't there something else we can do for him?"

"Right now, no. Just having the file, learning all he can…that's probably all he can process now anyway." The waitress brought their coffees and he nodded his thanks. "I will call the landlady and tell her to expect him, maybe ask her if she'll give him his mother's things."

"That's a good idea. Then he'll have something tangible of her." Brennan nodded softly, unknowingly twisting her own mother's ring.

Booth reached over and took her hand, running his thumb over her ring absently. "I know, Bones. It's important."

With a sigh, Brennan leaned slightly and rested her head on Booth's shoulder. "I find that I am suddenly not up to a spa treatment. I would just like to go upstairs and take a hot bath and rest before we go to dinner." She turned her head to look at him. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, Bones. That's just fine." Ignoring the fact that neither had touched their drinks, he stood and offered her a hand up. "Why don't you head up and do what you need to do, and I'll make the phone calls to the lab and Robert. Sound good?" He threw a few dollars on the table before they walked toward the lobby.

"Thank you, Booth. That sounds wonderful." They stood in front of the elevator doors for a moment, exchanging a look that was filled with understanding, affection and a little bit of sadness for their friend. When the car arrived, Brennan stepped on and turned to face Booth. "I'll see you for dinner?"

"You bet. I'll be waiting right here for you." Booth smiled as the doors closed, not missing her returning grin.

Once Brennan was gone, Booth rubbed his face with one hand, sighing heavily. As he walked toward the main doors of the hotel, he thought about how this trip had turned into something completely different than he had been expecting.

He and Brennan had been moving closer, that much he'd known. Hell, they'd all but promised themselves to each other back when Richard had unceremoniously shown up in DC, wanting another chance with Brennan. But beyond a glance here, a smile there, and a few pointed conversations, they hadn't progressed any further. And while the wait was definitely shorter than the previous seven years, it still made Booth nervous. He had never been the kind of man who liked to hurry things; in fact his patience was legendary. But this whole relationship…_thing_ with Brennan, he was just simply out of his element. He knew he wanted to be with her, and she wanted to be with him. He suddenly wondered to himself just what the hell they were waiting for.

Standing in front of the hotel with his cell phone in his hand, Booth began dialing Angela's number to update her on the case, but his focus was on his dinner that evening with Brennan. Just as the artist answered the call, one thought solidified in Booth's mind and a smile filled with naked realization and anticipation spread across his face.

It was finally time for more than _just partners._

* * *

><p>"Lance! Where the hell are you?" Claudia sounded frantic, but just hearing his voice had calmed her down from the near blinding panic she'd felt when she listened to his earlier voice mail, a disjointed message about mothers and seeing someone's face at the lab and airplane tickets to somewhere intelligible. "I've left messages for you all over the place!"<p>

Sweets released a breath, feeling the coiled tension of the last fourteen hours start to dissipate at just the sound of her voice. He felt immeasurably guilty for not leaving her more detailed information, but even he could admit that he hadn't been in his right mind when he had driven, half-dazed, to Reagan National and booked a stand-by ticket to Savannah. "I'm so sorry, Claudia. I just…I'm in Savannah, Georgia."

"Georgia? With Booth and Brennan? Is it case-related? Why didn't you just tell me that? I've been losing my mind after that weird message you left me, and-"

"Claudia." The pleading in his quiet voice stopped her cold. "The body Brennan was here to examine. She's…my mother. My birth mother."

"Oh, Lance." Claudia breathed, understanding and sympathy almost palpable, even over hundreds of miles of phone lines. "Are you alright?"

Sweets smiled slightly. This was why he loved her. She didn't ask for details, she didn't need specifics. All she needed to know was that he was hurting. "I want to say yes, I'm fine. But I'm so not."

"I'm sorry, babe. I know this isn't how you wanted to find her." Claudia was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry, too…that I couldn't find her for you before now."

"Oh, Claude…" He sighed. "I know you tried. She just didn't want to be found." After they had been dating about six months, Sweets had finally gotten up the nerve to explain the marks on his back, marks that Claudia had noticed, but carefully chose not to mention. She knew what the harsh, striped scars meant, but she also had instinctively known that when he was ready he would tell her about them. The night he revealed his entire past to her, she had held him as he cried for the boy he used to be and for the woman who had, unwittingly, placed him in the hell he'd been forced to endure. After that, Claudia promised that she would discreetly enquire about Lance's birth mother through the proper channels. She'd wanted so badly to get him the resolution he'd been seeking, and maybe even some of the peace she knew he needed.

"I just wish…oh, I don't know what I wish." She drew a deep breath. "But what I know is that I am on the next plane out of here, you shouldn't be alone."

"No, no…really." She tried to stall his protest, but he was resolute. "Seriously, Booth and Dr. Brennan are here, and they know…well, they know. You know?"

"Really?" Claudia was shocked that Lance had shared his past with the partners. "I didn't realize."

"I can't get into specifics out of respect for them, but a situation presented itself where things came out, you know? And they…were very supportive. And besides, this is probably only going to take a day or so. I don't want you to come all the way down here and have to turn back around again."

"But I don't mind. Really."

"I know. And I'm grateful. I just…I'll speak to a few people who knew her, make some arrangements for her, and then I'll come home."

It went against everything she believed in, but Claudia finally agreed to stay where she was. "Alright. But you know that I'm just a phone call away, right?"

"I love you, Claude."

"I love you, too. Never doubt that."

B&B

Brennan assessed her appearance in the reflection of the closed elevator doors. Objectively, she knew she looked good, so her nervousness was confusing to her. And when the car finally reached the lobby, her breath caught in her throat and her heart rate sped up, which did nothing to quell the anxiety that she was feeling. With a deep breath and a nod, she waiting impatiently for the doors to open, pulling a surprised breath through her teeth at the sight in front of her when they finally parted.

Booth was leaning against the pillar closest to the elevator, dressed in a dark, elegant suit that draped his lean body perfectly, a single white rose in his hand and a soft smile on his face. The smile faded into wide-eyed admiration as he took in Brennan's appearance.

Not knowing that she would need something nice to wear for a night out, Brennan hadn't brought a suitable outfit with her to Savannah. The problem was solved quite easily by a quick, surreptitious trip to an upscale boutique a few doors down from the hotel. The dress she chose was a vintage Givenchy, a classic Greek design with a braided bodice in a deep eggplant color that set off her chestnut hair and made her pale skin glow against the dark fabric. It was not something she normally would have chosen for herself, but this evening seemed to call for something special. And judging by the look on Booth's face, Brennan knew she had chosen correctly.

"Bones…" His voice came out huskier than he intended, and he cleared his throat nervously. "You are amazing."

The slight blush that colored her cheeks only made her more attractive to him, and he reached out and handed her the flower he still held clutched to his chest. She took the bloom and immediately held it to her nose, inhaling the rich scent with closed eyes and a slight smile. Looking Booth up and down with obvious appreciation, Brennan heard the elevator as it closed behind her, and then leaned her back against it. "You also look very handsome, Booth. And thank you, for the compliment and the flower."

Booth offered her his arm, and she linked hers through his at the elbow. "That is a Cherokee Rose. The state flower of Georgia. I know it's not your favorite, but I saw it and thought it was beautiful."

"It is, very. And it smells wonderful." Brennan looked down shyly as they crossed the busy foyer, not noticing the several heads turning as the attractive couple walked arm in arm towards the doors and out into the warm evening.

"Oh, Booth…this is such a nice choice." Brennan breathed as they entered Elizabeth on 37th, a 1900's Southern mansion converted into a restaurant in the early 1980's.

Booth relaxed more as Brennan gazed, fascinated, at the simple but elegant interior. From the paintings on the walls to the polished wood accents, the atmosphere was very much like she imagined life back in the mansion's heyday would have been. The maitre d showed them to their table, nestled in the back of the dining room in a private alcove. Booth held her chair for her as the wine list was placed on their table by their waiter, who introduced himself as Michael.

"Our wine captain for tonight will be with you shortly. May I start you with an aperitif?"

Booth nodded. "Would you happen to carry a manzanilla sherry?"

"Of course, sir. For you and the lady?"

"Please. And we'll start with the mozzarella and tomatoes." Booth glanced at a shocked Brennan as he pretended to be engrossed in the wine list.

"Right away, sir." The waiter nodded approvingly and moved to another table.

Brennan shook her head in amazement. "Booth…where did you hear about manzanilla sherry? I love that before a meal, but…"

"How did I know? Dr. Brennan, I am full of surprises." He grinned, unable to keep up the ruse. "Okay, actually…before college I worked in a restaurant just like this one, and I picked up a thing or two. Plus, we have eaten together before, and you've mentioned how much you enjoy a sherry before dinner."

"I…I did?" She was amazed at his memory.

Nodding, Booth smiled. "Once, at Sid's. We were there for dinner and he was out of sherry, and you were disappointed."

"Booth! That was over six years ago! I can't believe you remembered that!"

"I remember quite a bit about you, Bones. Even the things you don't think are important." He slid his hand across the table and took her hand. "You might not think they're worth remembering, but I do. I always do."

Brennan giggled a little. "Is it terrible that I found that a bit…"

"Cheesy? Too much?" Booth broke out into a full-out grin. "Yeah, I might have pushed that one a little." His eyes darkened, despite the smile. "Doesn't make it any less true, though."

"I know." Her satisfied nod was more than enough for him. She fought another blush and looked him in the eye so there was no doubt of her sincerity. "I do know, Booth."

After a lovely meal full of good food, excellent wine and even better conversation, both partners found that although they wanted to extend the evening, the effects of the last few days were wearing on them and so they decided to head back to the hotel. Ever the gentleman, Booth walked Brennan to her door, pausing outside as she retrieved her key from her handbag.

"Thank you for coming tonight, Bones. I had a really nice time." He looked at his feet for a moment, almost shy.

Brennan was amused at the sudden bashfulness coming from her big, tough partner, but fought to keep it out of her voice. "I had a nice time, too. Thank you for dinner…and the flower…for everything."

Looking back up, Booth caught her eye and grinned boyishly. "Yeah? Good. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, Bones."

"I always enjoy myself with you, Booth." The obvious truth to her words rocked him to his core.

"Well…" At a loss for words, he took her key from her slack hand and used it to open her door. As he handed it back to her, he leaned close and kissed her cheek, pausing for a moment to take in her scent one more time. "Good night, Bones. Sweet dreams." He turned and walked the short distance to his own room.

Brennan watched as he opened his door and then took one more look back at her. "Good night. Sleep well, Booth."

They entered their rooms at the same time, both doors closing simultaneously.

* * *

><p>Hodgins watched from the doorway of the office as Angela listlessly flipped through images on the Angelatron. He noticed, not for the first time, that her shoulders were slumped in defeat and her hair didn't have the same shine that it usually did. Making sure to step heavily so she wouldn't be startled, he entered the office to stand next to her.<p>

"Angela? Are you ready to head home? There's nothing else to do to help Brennan, right?"

Shaking her head, Angela sighed. "No, but…I wish there were something I could do to help Sweets." She glanced at her husband. "You heard, right?"

"Yeah. Cam told me earlier. Poor kid." He reached his hand out and took hers, trying not to wince as she pulled back gently and headed for her desk to store her computer pad and grab her purse.

"I just…" She looked around for a moment before seeming to resign herself to something Jack knew she wouldn't vocalize. "Never mind. Let's just go home."

B&B

Brennan made her way down to the hotel restaurant the next morning with a light step and a smile on her face. Dinner with Booth the night before had been lovely, and if she were honest with herself she would have to admit that it was the best first date she had ever had…even if she and Booth never actually referred to the meal they shared as a date. The Seeley Booth who sat across from her at the elegant, linen-draped table was a version she had never seen before. He was erudite, charming and flirtatious all at the same time, a combination she found she liked very much. But she also enjoyed the Booth who could be goofy and self-deprecating, and the one who instinctively knew when she was hurting and needed a hug, and the one who intentionally pushed her buttons to get a rise out of her…they were all facets of the man she had come to care about so much in the last eight years, and it thrilled the anthropologist and the woman in her to discover even now that there was so much more for her to learn.

Thoughts still on Booth, Brennan almost missed Sweets sitting at the table closest to the entrance to the restaurant.

"Dr. Brennan, good morning." The young psychologist stood as Brennan pulled out her chair and settled next to him.

"Good morning, Dr. Sweets." She paused, not sure if she should continue with more inane pleasantries or inquire as to how he was feeling. Instinctively playing a round of 'What Would Booth Do?' in her head, she decided an honest but caring approach would be the correct one. "Did you speak with Claudia last night?"

"Mmm, yes." Sweets finished his second cup of coffee and waved to the waitress for a refill, as well as to order a beverage for Brennan. "She was upset that I didn't tell her where I was going, but she understood."

"I imagine she offered to come down here on the first flight?"

"Yes." Sweets was slightly surprised at Brennan's insight. "How did you know?"

"Because it's what I would have done." They shared an understanding look, both knowing for whom Brennan would have jumped on the first plane she could find.

"Claudia is really great. I'm lucky to have her."

A half smile crossed her face. "I'm glad." For a moment, they glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, not quite sure how to continue the conversation. As the waitress took their breakfast orders, Brennan looked worriedly towards the lobby for Booth, an act Sweets picked up on immediately.

"Did you get in late last night, Dr. Brennan? Maybe he's still sleeping."

Shaking her head, Brennan sipped her coffee. "No, we were back relatively early and I saw him enter his room at the same time I went into mine, so…"

"Shouldn't you call him, then?"

"I'll give him a little longer. I know he was tired last night." With a decisive nod that signaled the end of the discussion on Booth's whereabouts, Brennan focused on her dining companion. She considered her words for a moment, suddenly frustrated by her lack of depth in this area. "I'm sorry, Dr. Sweets. I don't know the right thing to say about your mother. And I know that it is not the same situation that I-"

"It's alright, Dr. Brennan. Your empathy is more than enough, really. I appreciate it more than you know." Sweets sighed and picked at his toast. "I just…I wish I had gotten to know her. At least met her in person. Even if she didn't want to see me again, I would know what her-" He trailed off, unable to finish.

"You would know what her voice sounded like." Sweets looked up and his heart squeezed at the sheen of tears in Brennan's eyes. "You would be able to recall the feel of her skin, the scent of her hair. The things that make her…unique."

"Yes!" He nodded frantically. "And I'll never know any of that now! I feel like she _cheated _me in some way, like she didn't think I was worth getting to know…like she was avoiding me."

"Do you know if she was even aware that you searched for her?"

It was a question he had both feared and turned over in his head millions of times. "Not really…no. I mean, I'd hoped, you know? I hoped that she didn't know and that my lack of success was just pure and simple bad luck, but…after awhile and a dozen dead ends, I started to think that she just didn't want to be found."

Brennan considered her words carefully for a moment. "You researched the carnival circuit extensively, correct?" At his nod, she continued. "Then you are aware of the transient nature of the lifestyle. Oftentimes, there is no rhyme or reason to where they travel, and when they find a route that seems to be the most lucrative they stay that course until another opportunity presents itself, which could come at any time."

"Maybe." He shook his head again and looked into the intense stare of the woman next to him. "Thanks, Dr. Brennan. You've really gotten good at comforting others, I appreciate it."

She moved her head to the side in acknowledgment. "You're welcome. But my strides in that area can be directly attributed to Booth's influence."

"Booth's a good man."

Brennan shrugged imperceptibly. "Yes, I am aware of that."

They resumed their breakfast as if nothing significant had happened, exchanging a knowing look when Booth came rushing in ten minutes later, hair still damp and wallet in hand.

"Hey, you two. Sorry I'm late; they didn't give me my wake-up call this morning." He sat down next to Brennan and began flipping through the menu. "I didn't miss anything, did I?"

Sweets looked to Brennan with a half smile. "No, Agent Booth. You didn't miss a thing."

Booth caught the glance but chose not to comment on it. He quickly ordered his meal, and then handed Sweets a card that held the address of the last home his mother had ever had, along with the landlady's name and phone number.

"I called Mrs. Jenkinson this morning before I came down, and she said she would be happy to speak with you." Booth blinked a few times and hid a smile when Brennan reached over and covered Sweets' hand with her own.

"Would you like us to accompany you, Dr. Sweets?" She looked to Booth questioningly. "I don't believe we have anything particularly pressing to do this morning." She didn't mention that she would need to go back to the morgue to process his mother's remains and complete paperwork to close out her case, but that all could wait if necessary.

Booth shook his head. "No, we're free for awhile. What do you say, Sweets? Want some company?"

Standing and tossing his napkin to the table, Sweets nodded. "I appreciate the offer, really. But…I think I need to do this alone."

"You sure, Sweets?"

With a slightly tentative nod, the younger man demurred. "I'm sure. I'm going to grab a cab and head over there as soon as I call Mrs.-" He glanced at the card again. "Jenkinson."

"Alright." Booth stood and clapped him on the shoulder. "But you call if you need us, got it?"

"Sure. I will. Thanks again." With another short, nod, he ambled off towards the front of the hotel.

Brennan watched Sweets go, a worried expression etched across her features. When he was out of sight, she turned to Booth and saw the exact same expression on his face. They exchanged an understanding smile before turning back to their meals, eating in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Brennan set her coffee cup down and leaned back into her chair. "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?" He sat back, mimicking her position.

"Do you think…I mean, I tried to make Sweets feel better before you got here, and I'm afraid I-"

"Bones." He reached out and laid his hand on her knee. "I'm sure that whatever you said, it was the right thing."

"You can't possibly know that, Booth." She sat back up and twisted her napkin nervously. "What if I made him feel worse?"

"But you didn't." He ignored her glare. "Bones. That kid walked out of here a hell of a lot more relaxed than he was last night. It might have something to do with talking to Turner, but it's obvious that whatever you were saying before I got here eased his mind. "

"Do you really think so?"

"I do. You should have more faith in yourself. You do just fine, Bones."

Relying on her gut wasn't something Brennan was accustomed to, but the total belief in Booth's eyes set her mind at ease, and she just decided to accept it. "Thanks, Booth."

"Anytime, Bones." He finished his coffee with a gulp and gestured to her plate of fruit. "Are you done? We need to get you to the morgue to wrap things up."

"Yes. I'll call Robert and ask him to meet us there." She stood, waiting for Booth to collect the bill and head for the cashier. "Technically, the remains are still his purview and I will need to accede to whatever protocol they have established in this particular county."

Booth nodded and pulled out his wallet. "Got it. You call Robert, and I'll pay for breakfast and meet you out front." He watched for a moment as Brennan headed for the doors to the lobby, not bothering to hide his admiration of her retreating form and pointedly ignoring the knowing smirk from the waitress who took his money.

B&B

"You must be Lance." The small, eccentrically-dressed older woman opened the large mahogany door to Sweets, ushering him into the foyer with a flourish. Judging by the tightly-wrapped kimono she wore over her generous curves, Mrs. Evvie Jenkinson decorated her person with the same flair as she decorated her large home…with style, an taste for the dramatic and eye-bleeding color. She pushed her young visitor into a warm but bright sitting room, gesturing him to a paisley settee and taking a seat in a large, orange wingback chair across from him. "Agent Booth tells me that you are Bonnie's son."

"Yes, ma'am." Sweets was a little uncomfortable but intensely curious, taking in the mismatched knickknacks placed around the room. "I was told that you and she were close."

Evvie sniffed quietly, pulling a lace hankie out of her generous bosom. "Yes. Bonnie was a wonderful woman. She lived here for almost four years, and never missed a chance to sit and chat with me. I feel as if I've lost a sister." She gave Sweets a sympathetic look. "I can't even imagine how you must feel, dear."

"Yes, well…" He gave her a little shake of his head and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "To be completely honest, I don't know exactly how I feel. I didn't know my mother at all."

"She talked of you." Sweets didn't hide his surprise. "Yes, she did. Not often, because it was painful for her. But she thought she was doing the right thing by you."

"She did. My adoptive parents were…they were wonderful people." He didn't speak of his experiences before he was taken in by the people who saved his life. He didn't want to waste time rehashing things that couldn't be taken back at the expense of learning more about the woman who gave birth to him, and then gave him up.

Evvie smiled. "Knowing that would give Bonnie some peace." Her eyes narrowed for a moment. "She didn't want to give you away, you know."

That simple statement, starkly and honestly spoken, released something dark and tight in Sweets' chest and he couldn't do anything to stop the rush of wetness that filled his eyes. Evvie pulled another hankie from her blouse and handed it to him, nodding when he wiped his eyes without protest. He took a moment to compose himself, not sure his voice would cooperate. The older woman waited patiently, hands in her lap and calm expression on her weathered features.

Once Sweets was convinced he could speak without breaking down, he sat back up and cleared his throat. "Did she…I mean, she said that she regretted…"

"Please don't misunderstand, love. She did not regret giving you up." At his pale face, she elaborated. "Honey, you have to understand…Bonnie was not well. I assume Agent Booth explained about her mental illness?" At his nod, she continued. "She knew she wasn't equipped to handle a baby, and her lifestyle certainly wasn't the kind of life a young boy needs to grow up right." Evvie sighed sadly. "But it broke her heart to let you go."

Sweets didn't bother to stop the flow of tears this time. And when Evvie stood and moved to sit next to him, wrapping him in warm, comforting arms and flowery perfume, he didn't protest. "I know what you're worried about, dear. But she loved you, she did. I know it sounds like something someone always says in this situation, but she loved you so much she had to let you go. She did what she thought was best."

Recovering slightly, a little embarrassed by his teary display, Sweets sat up straighter, Evvie's arms still around him. There was another important question that had plagued him since he was twelve years old and curious about his roots for the first time. "Did she ever mention my father?"

"No, I'm sorry. I-" Evvie stood again and moved back to her own chair, certain the emotional storm had passed for the time being. "Obviously, I wanted to ask. But she was so careful not to mention anything about your father, I assumed that it was simply too painful and I loved her too much to push." She once again teared up. "I just thought…I…I thought there would be more time."

Sweets waited respectfully as Evvie gathered herself again. "I understand that she left behind some effects? Would it be possible for me to look at them?"

Happy to have a task to accomplish, Evvie jumped up and held out her hand. "Of course! I've left her room almost completely intact, and you are welcome to whatever you would like to have." Feeling anticipation instead of the almost constant dread he had been carrying around with him for the last 48 hours, Sweets grasped the excited woman's slightly damp hand tightly and allowed her to lead him up the stairs.

* * *

><p>Booth once again found himself leaning against a steel table with Robert at his side, watching Brennan work. She was cataloguing all the pertinent information on the remains of Bonita Calloway, and even Booth could see that even though Brennan always gave everything she had to each and every victim they worked for; she was taking special steps this time to make sure that everything was done correctly and with as much care as possible. He couldn't even be bothered to hide his affection for her when Robert bumped his shoulder and smiled at him.<p>

"She's an amazing woman, is she not?"

"You will never get an argument from me on that point, Doc." Booth spared him a quick glance, and then turned his attention back to the woman in question. "I assumed that's why you called her down here to do a job you are more than capable of doing yourself."

Robert, to his credit, blushed a bit before laughing. "Guess I'm caught." He glanced at Brennan himself, before leaning into Booth conspiratorially. "I just missed her, and this seemed the perfect opportunity to entice her back to my little part of the world. I hadn't seen her since…." He paused for a moment and looked down sadly.

"Your wife passed away?" Booth finished softly. "I am sorry."

"Thank you. And yes, when Sara died, Temperance was one of the first people to show up on my front steps, offering whatever comfort she could." He paused, unsure of how to vocalize his feelings about the woman in front of him. "I know you know this, but Temperance…she has such a big heart. She was devastated when Sara died, but she pushed that aside to care for me. I honestly don't know what I would have done without her." Booth stayed quiet as the other man continued. "But a heart that big comes with a price. It's like…it's almost too big for her to carry around on her own. She needs…"

"Someone to help her carry it." Booth almost smiled at the metaphor that Brennan would never agree with or understand. "You, my friend, are preaching to the choir."

Robert blinked away the sudden and surprising tears that filled his eyes but looked at Booth steadily. "My Sara would have loved you, Booth."

Booth looked away, slightly embarrassed but not exactly sure why. "I have a feeling I would have really liked her, too."

Brennan called to her mentor, diverting their attention back to the task at hand. "I believe she is ready to be transported, Robert. I will check with Dr. Sweets about arrangements, but we've done everything we can here to prepare her to go home."

Unexpectedly choked up at Brennan's choice of words, Booth cleared his throat and nodded. "Can you handle the paperwork here, Robert? I need to get Bones back to the hotel so we can get the forms on our end done and get ready to head back to DC."

"I will definitely take care of it. Assure your Dr. Sweets that as soon as I know what he has planned, I will give his mother the attention she deserves. Just have him call me in the morning." Robert was aware of their friend's plans for today, and he knew the young man would need some time to make his own arrangements for his mother's internment.

"I expected nothing less, Robert." Brennan, having removed her gloves, moved to embrace him. "Thank you so much for everything."

The older man leaned into her hug, whispering in her ear softly. "I would do anything for you, Temperance, you know that." Standing back, he eyed her critically. "Don't be such a stranger from now on, I don't want to have to invent another reason to entice you to come and see me."

Brennan laughed lightly and hugged him again. "I promise we'll come back soon." None of them missed her unconscious inclusion of Booth in her statement. "We'll talk in the morning, alright?"

Not trusting his voice, Robert nodded. He accepted Booth's heartfelt handshake and watched with quiet delight as Booth led Brennan out of the room, her bag over his shoulder and his hand lying comfortingly on the nape of her neck.

B&B

Sweets found Booth and Brennan in the hotel restaurant again, sitting in a booth very close together and obviously sharing one of their legendary moments where the rest of the world didn't exist. He thought about simply heading up to his room to call Claudia, but Brennan saw him out of the corner of her eye and gestured for him to join them. He crossed the dining room, awkwardly balancing a large box in his hands as he moved to sit. Booth jumped up and took the box, settling it on the floor next to the table.

"How did it go with Evvie, Sweets?" Booth tried to sound casual, not wanting to make the younger man uncomfortable if he wasn't ready to talk.

Sweets gave them both a genuine smile. "Actually, it went really well. We talked about my mother for quite awhile, obviously, and I had dinner with the other residents who knew her. They told me some great stories and…"

Brennan tilted her head sideways. "Did you find out what you needed to know?"

He sighed. "Yes and no." At Brennan's look, he clarified. "I know that's not precise. But there are just some things I'm never going to know, and I have to be okay with that. Evvie gave me some of her belongings, some pictures…" He reached down and pulled a small picture out of the box, handing it to Brennan. She took the weathered paper and gasped as she stared at the image.

"Sweets…is this?" She handed the picture to Booth.

"Aw, Sweets…this is you and your mom?" He held up the photo, a shot of a small, but smiling woman holding a baby wrapped tightly in a blanket. A shock of black hair could be seen sticking out of the top of the blanket.

"Yeah." Sweets nodded. "I don't know how old I was there, but…it doesn't really matter. I know what I need to know for now."

Brennan took the picture back from Booth, tracing the image with her finger as she smiled softly. "And sometimes, that can be enough."

Sweets grinned. "It certainly can, Dr. Brennan."

* * *

><p>After signing the final paperwork on the investigation and bidding Sweets goodnight, Booth and Brennan sat at the hotel bar, sipping their individual drinks and regarding each other closely. Both had felt the shift that occurred over the last few days, but it seemed as though, by tacit agreement, they weren't going to vocalize those feelings. They just existed, another layer to an already complex and satisfying partnership. At one point, the silence seemed to surround them like their own personal isolation bubble, and they caught each other's eye. Words were superfluous as Booth held out his hand, palm up, waiting. Brennan, wholly aware of what Booth's invitation implied, slid her own hand into his to entwine their fingers as Booth placed some money on the counter and rose, pulling her with him.<p>

They crossed the lobby to the elevators, sneaking glances at each other but never dropping their hands. Booth rubbed his thumb along Brennan's knuckles as he punched the number for their floor and waited patiently for the elevator to take them up. Once they were standing outside Booth's room, his key in hand, Brennan found that she could wait no longer. She reached up and slid one hand to the back of his neck and pulled him to her, brushing her lips with his. It was a short, soft kiss filled with desire and commitment and everything they'd never had the courage to verbalize before.

Pulling back, Brennan had to gasp at the lust mixed with adoration in Booth's eyes. They were no longer his usual warm brown, but a dark and heated onyx framed by heavy, promise-filled lids. He fumbled with the key at first; the only indication that he was as nervous as she was, finally releasing the latch and pushing the door open with a snap of his wrist. He pulled Brennan through the doorway, walking backwards, until the door shut behind her. When she found her back pressed against the cool wood and her front pressed against the warm agent, all rationality left her and she welcomed Booth's searing kiss, letting him anchor her as emotions swirled around her and threatened to send her flying.

"Booth…" She sighed as he stopped worshipping her lips to press soft, sucking kisses along her collarbone. "The bed, it's right there…" She sighed again when he popped the first two buttons on her blouse and one finger traced the edge of the lacy bra he'd uncovered.

Booth raised his head and smiled predatorily. "No."

"No?" Brennan gulped; sure she had not misread his intentions.

"No." His head moved slowly back and forth. "Not there." He pointed at the door. "Here. Right here." He dipped his head and ran his tongue along the shell of her earlobe, his breath hot against her neck. "I want you everywhere, Bones. Make no mistake. But first…" With one scary-quick movement, Booth hitched her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, pressing her harder into the door. "First, I want you here."

Brennan's head tipped back with a thump, her breathing already erratic as he once again ran his tongue along her exposed skin. "That is…more than acceptable."

B&B

The next morning, Sweets headed for Booth's room to see if he and Dr. Brennan were interested in breakfast before they had to go to the mortuary to make arrangements for his mother's remains, and then leave for the airport. In the elevator, he thought back to how supportive Brennan had been during the last few days. Her understanding and empathy were not surprising to Sweets. He had seen for himself, years ago during an unexpected late night visit in his office, that Temperance Brennan was more than capable of opening her heart when she felt it was necessary. But her support recently was one of the few things that had helped him keep it together and he wondered if there was anything he could possibly do to repay her.

Adjusting his mindset back to the task at hand, Sweets knocked quickly on Booth's door. There was a shuffling of feet before Booth's head popped out of the slightly open doorway. "Hey Sweets. Mornin'"

"Good morning, Booth. I was wondering if you and Dr. Brennan might be interested in breakfast before we check out. I hear their buffet is really awesome!" Sweets leaned back slightly at Booth's frown, feeling like he was missing something.

"Uh…yeah. Sure, man. I think we can do that."

Sweets looked towards Brennan's adjacent door. "Cool. I'll go ask Dr. Brennan then?"

Booth opened his door wider and shook his head frantically. "No!" Clearing his throat at Sweets' raised eyebrows, he explained. "Bones hates getting up in the morning without caffeine. If you knock without a cup of coffee to offer her, you're taking your life into your hands. I'll just call her and get her moving, okay?"

Still confused but too tired, hungry and homesick to care, Sweets nodded. "Alright. I'll meet you guys down there and get a table." He turned and headed for the elevator again, shaking his head as Booth slammed his door shut.

B&B

Breakfast passed quietly, everyone at the table reflecting on the events of the last few days in silence. Sweets was wrapped up in his thoughts of what might have been if he had continued trying to contact his birth mother, while Booth and Brennan each replayed the previous night over and over in their heads, matching enigmatic smiles on their faces. When Brennan's phone beeped with an incoming text message from Cam, she stood to step outside and return her call, knowing that they would be hard to reach while en route back to DC. Not giving her actions a second thought, Brennan leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Booth's lips, said 'I love you' and walked away, leaving a smug Booth and a stunned Sweets in her wake.

"Dude." Sweets breathed in awe. "Did you guys…? Like, finally?"

Booth waved his hand in Sweets' shocked face. "Look…listen, alright?" He snuck a look outside where Brennan was still chatting with her boss, oblivious to the can of worms she had spilled all over the place. "Bones and I…" He couldn't stop the contented grin from spreading. "Yeah. We're…together."

Sweets couldn't contain his excitement. "Booth! That's…oh, man." He returned the agent's smile. "I'm really happy for you guys. Seriously."

Booth nodded. "Thanks, Sweets."

"What are you thanking him for?" Brennan took her seat again next to Booth, looking between the two men questioningly.

"He was saying how happy he is for us. You sort of outed us there with that kiss, Bones." Booth wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she settled back into his side.

"Oh." She glanced at Booth, chagrined. "I'm sorry. It's just seemed so…"

"Natural." The grin was back in full force. "I know, Bones."

"We so need to talk." Sweets nodded to himself, gearing up to enter what Booth could see was his "shrink mode".

Shaking his head and effectively cutting the kid off before he could psychoanalyze them to death, Booth slapped the table top. "Not now, Sweets. We need to get your arrangements taken care of, right?" He looked back and forth between a confused Brennan and disappointed Sweets. "Right. Let's go, chop chop!" He stood and threw a few bills on the table, forcing Brennan to follow in his wake.

The young psychologist sat at the table for another moment, trying to wrap his head around this new development. "Wow."

"Sweets! Come on already!"

"Coming, coming…" He muttered, standing and joining the partners as they exited the restaurant.

B&B

Hodgins woke up when the light filtering through the curtain hit him in the face, causing him to groan and roll towards his wife. When he reached for Angela however, he realized that she was sitting up in bed, staring ahead at nothing.

"Babe?" Jack struggled to push the covers off as he sat up. Angela didn't acknowledge his call, so he grabbed her hand and pulled her forcibly into his arms. When she still didn't speak, he pulled back and looked into her red-rimmed eyes. "Ang. Enough already."

Angela shook her head. "There's nothing wrong, Jack."

"Like hell there isn't. Angela, you've been distant and quiet since we've been back. Obviously the house situation isn't all that's been bothering you. You barely acknowledge me at work, and when we're home…"

"We've made love every single night since we came back, Hodgins. I-"

"No, we've been having sex." At her hurt expression, he pulled her close again. "I'm not feeling the connection anymore, Angela. It's like…like you're not even here." He pressed a kiss to her head and sighed. "It's as if I left my wonderful vivacious, outgoing wife in Paris, and I have no idea how to bring her home."

With a gasp, Angela buried her face in her husband's shoulder and began sobbing. Her entire body shook as Hodgins rocked her slowly back and forth, whispering comforting, nonsensical words in her ear until she finally began to calm down.

"I'm-" She took the handkerchief he offered her with a small smile, wiping her eyes and nose. "I'm so sorry, Jack." She locked eyes with him, begging him to see the truth. "It's not you…it's nothing you've done. You've been wonderful, putting up with me."

"I love you, Ang. I just want to help you work out…whatever this is. We can figure it out together."

"I know, I know…it was selfish of me to keep it from you. I just didn't know how to tell you that I want to quit the lab."

Hodgins sat back and stared, wondering at how, despite every scenario he had imagined in his head, this particular problem had escaped him. "Okay…you want to tell me why?"

"Honestly? I've never felt completely comfortable there." At his look, she clarified. "The job, the work…yes, it's satisfying. And having all of my family around me, there's nothing I love more. But, Jack…the death, and the mayhem of it all, seeing the awful things we humans can do to each other…it's sad and it's depressing and it's not for me. Not anymore. I'm not sure it ever has been."

Hodgins was floored. "But, why didn't you say anything before? You know you don't have to work, you can open an art gallery, display your own work…you can do whatever you want. Why put yourself through all of that, Ang?"

"You and Brennan, mostly." When Hodgins scoffed, she held up a hand to stop his protest. "And no, I don't think that you made me stay. It's just that…sometimes, I feel like I don't belong there with all of you. I overheard Booth say once that when he's in the lab, he doesn't know where to stand." She wiped her eyes again, and half-smiled. "I know how he feels. Out of place, like a square peg in a round hole. But when we were in Paris…it was like I fit perfectly. Like I found a part of myself I never even knew I was missing. The part of me that can sit in front of a canvas for hours and just…create something out of nothing. Something beautiful, something _alive." _She took a deep breath and continued. "I started feeling that way almost from the minute we arrived in France, and after awhile…I just didn't even want to come back."

"Wow." Hodgins breathed. "Okay. I mean, I knew you were happy there, I just never imagined that you were _happier_. I wish you would have said something."

"But I thought we needed to come back here, you know? I know what I do is important, but I've finally realized that anyone could run my programs and I'm not irreplaceable. The only reason I came back and the only reason I stayed is because I love you and Brennan, and even Cam and Booth. I didn't feel as if I had the option to just…quit it all."

"But you do!" His vehement statement surprised her.

"You need me…you all do."

"Of course we do. And of course we love working with you…but, and I think Brennan would agree, not at the expense of your happiness. Come here." He pulled her into a tight embrace and spoke softly into her ear, making sure his words were not missed. "You are the most important person in the world to me. Your happiness is my responsibility, and when you're struggling…it hurts me, especially when I know I have the power to fix it. Yes, we would miss you around the lab every day, but I would still be the lucky bastard to gets to come home to you every night, and that is more than enough for me. And you and Brennan will still be best friends, and you'll still go out to dinner…you aren't going away, you're just adjusting your life. You're allowed to do that."

She nodded into this chest. "Thank you. I feel terrible now for not telling you sooner. I should have known you would understand." She kissed him softly. "You are the most amazing man."

"Yeah, well…" He grinned. "I get that a lot."

"So, I guess I'll be turning in my resignation tomorrow." She sat up, a shadow crossing her face. "It seems so real when I say it out loud like that. Before, it was just an idea and now…"

"But, now…you've made the decision." He hesitated before asking his next question, almost scared of what her answer would be. "Are you happy about it?"

The smile that graced her face gave off more light than Hodgins had seen from his wife in a very long time, and the tightness that had settled in his chest since they'd been home finally began to loosen it's grip on his heart.

"I have never been happier in my life."

B&B

Brennan, Booth and Sweets sat three astride in first class, with Brennan claiming the window seat and Booth in the middle. Sweets had been gently nudging the newly-minted more-than-just partners for the better part of the car ride to the airport, and hadn't let up since. Finally, Booth reached the end of his admittedly-short patience with the younger man.

"Sweets! It's enough already!" He felt a little bad at the pout Sweets gave him, so he relented. "Look, we're just figuring out what all this means and how it's going to work, so we would appreciate it if you could lay off the analyzing and keep this to yourself for awhile. You're the only one who knows, so don't tell anyone else right now, alright?"

Sweets frowned. "So, what? I'm going to be your "Joey", _Chandler_?"

Laughing, Booth clapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah. Exactly."

"Sweets is going to be our baby kangaroo?" Brennan asked, leaning into Booth, frown firmly in place. "That makes no sense."

"It's a television show reference, Dr. Brennan. Friends."

"Yes, I suppose we are friends. I still don't get why you're a joey."

"No, it's his given name."

"Joey is the baby kangaroo's given name?"

"No, it's not a baby kangaroo, it's-"

"And 'I don't know' is on third. Yeah." Booth turned to Brennan, effectively ending her migraine-inducing conversation with Sweets. "The television show is called 'Friends', Bones. And there was a storyline where two of the characters, Monica and Chandler, began a relationship that they didn't want any of their other friends to know about, but Chandler's roommate Joey discovered it and promised to keep their secret for them. For a long time, he was the only one who knew."

Sweets leaned over Booth's lap. "Yeah, and it caused him a lot of trouble, too."

"Don't worry, Sweets. No one will be finding my tighty whiteys in Bones' sofa."

"That's because you wear boxers." Brennan smiled saucily. "Or sometimes, you go rogue when you haven't done laundry."

"Commando, Bones. Commando." Booth snuck a quick look at a grinning Sweets. "And don't tell the kid stuff like that, okay?"

The flight attendant chose that moment to lean over and ask for their drink orders. After Booth and Brennan asked for coffee, the pretty redhead looked to Sweets questioningly. He affected what he thought was a deep, Brooklyn accent and leaned back in his seat, smiling. "How _you _doin'?"

The woman raised an eyebrow in question as Booth laughed in shock. "Sweets! Don't _ever_ do that again! Ever!"

Embarrassed, the young doctor gave his order and proceeded to hide his burning face in a psychiatric journal he had brought with him. Brennan asked Booth what was going on, and Booth told her he would explain later as he took her hand and pulled her close, kissing her temple lightly. Then the three traveling companions settled back in their seats and relaxed as the plane reached cruising altitude, headed for home.

* * *

><p><em><strong>When a mysterious death causes them to be quarantined in a mall overnight, the team struggles to solve the murder with limited supplies while facing the harsh realities that come with their high-stress and often dangerous jobs. Find out how our favorite couples deal with death and life next week in The Dead in the Dawn by Rynogeny.<strong>_


	9. The Dead in the Dawn

Episode 6.5x09 The Dead in the Dawn ~ Written by Rynogeny

Camille Saroyan loved to shop. Shoes were her first weakness, with fashionable dresses and work ensembles a close second. But recently, she'd developed another obsession, which was why she was in the Everything Babies store in the newly opened Forest Grove Mall at 8:55 PM on a Tuesday when she should have been home with her feet up or better yet, getting said feet massaged by Paul.

She turned over a green onesie that said, 'Here to Rule' and smiled, then regretfully put it back, moving to the next table. They had plenty of newborn and 0-3 months outfits. If she was going to indulge herself, it should be in the next size up. Apart from unsolicited advice about labor, what she heard most often these days were warnings about how fast the baby would outgrow the newborn wardrobe she'd assembled.

The difficulty was that the bigger the sizes, the more determined the designers were to create gender-specific outfits. She rubbed her belly and frowned at the 'Daddy's little princess' t-shirts. She didn't regret their decision not to know the baby's sex and enjoyed the guessing games they were playing, but it made shopping more challenging. Then again, there was no law that said a little girl couldn't wear a onesie that looked like a tuxedo. Amused by the thought, she chose one instead that said, 'Mom rocks my world' and then spied a green warm-up outfit – pants, shirt, jacket – with a giraffe on the back.

Aware that the clerk was starting to bring the gate down in preparation for closing, Cam headed to the checkout, only making one detour to pick up a tiny pair of jogging shoes that would match the warm-up outfit…and the stuffed lion she spied sitting proudly on the table next to the cash register. Everyone needed a lion, right?

She paid for the purchases and still amused by the lion, was turning to leave when someone out in the center of the mall screamed.

The problem with being a doctor and a former cop is that you never really stopped being either one. Being nearly full-term, she couldn't move as fast as the scream required, but she'd made a point of staying as fit as possible, working in long walks whenever possible, and that served her now as she headed out of the store into the common area of the mall where the scream had originated.

Forest Grove Mall took its name seriously, with a rustic décor of trees, rocks and waterfalls scattered throughout. But the display at the junction closest to Everything Babies was particularly noteworthy. It was huge, rising well over two stories at its highest point, with skylights another fifteen feet above it. At the bottom, large, live trees surrounded a shallow pool fed by water tumbling over rocks.

The whole thing was ringed by a stone ledge that served both as seating and a protective barrier to prevent people from climbing into the display. At the moment, though it appeared that a woman had done just that – a woman who was presumably supposed to do so, based on the 'Greenery By Greene' lettering on her t-shirt and the gardening paraphernalia at her feet.

Cam was certain she was the screamer, although now she was mostly squeaking and stuttering as she pointed to something on the ground of the display to a man who, based on his uniform and the tools on his belt, appeared to be mall security. Due to the late hour, only fifteen people or so – mostly mall employees, by the look of it - had gathered in front of the display by the time Cam arrived.

Grateful for the step the florist had placed there that allowed her to get closer to the gardener and the guard, Cam stepped up onto the ledge and addressed them. "I'm Dr. Camille Saroyan. Can I be of assistance?"

The guard looked up what from what he was staring at, and shook his head. "Think it's too late for you, Doc."

Cam looked down and saw a partially buried trash bag in the dirt between the foot of the largest tree and the pool. She knew what she was going to see even before the guard pulled back the plastic and revealed the bloody face of an obviously dead man. She sighed, and reached for her phone. "No, it's pretty much my area of specialty."

B&B

Two local cops stood guard at the door of the mall, and Booth flashed his badge at them as he walked in with Brennan and Sweets. "You know, Bones, it really wouldn't have been that far out of the way to take you home. Cam said Sweets might be useful due to the number of witnesses to interview, but the body's got too much flesh for you to really do your thing."

Brennan cocked her head. "Since we were already together, there was no point in you taking me back to my apartment. And the fact that bones are my area doesn't mean I will be unable to contribute anything to the crime scene investigation. Besides, I enjoy working with you," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

In response, Booth smiled, and ran a hand down her back.

"Whoa," Sweets interjected. "That is …a mountain in the middle of the mall."

They looked up, and Booth was forced to agree. The grouping of rocks, water and trees was enormous. "Apparently someone thinks shoppers in DC fantasize about buying shoes in the middle of a national park." He shook his head and focused on the group at the base of the display. Cam was talking to two men, one in a suit, one a security guard, while another guard spoke to seven people, four of whom appeared to be mall employees. The fifth was a gardener of some kind and the other two were probably shoppers, based on the bags at their feet.

Then movement caught Booth's eye and he realized Hodgins was in the display, next to the pool, taking samples of dirt. "Hail, hail, the gang's all here," he muttered.

Only they weren't. Angela's last day had been the Friday before.

Cam saw them and motioned them over. "Mr. Keller, Mr. Baxter, this is the rest of our team – Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian, Special Agent Seeley Booth and Dr. Lance Sweets of the FBI," she said, indicating them. "Adam Keller is the mall administrator, Rick Baxter owns the company that handles the mall security."

Booth acknowledged the men and looked at Cam. "So, what do we have?"

"Body buried between the pond and the tree, about six inches deep, wrapped in trash bags and duct tape."

"Six inches, huh? How much dirt is there?"

"Several feet. Hodgins says what's there is intended to provide adequate ground support for the trees."

"What condition is the body in? You told Booth it's still pretty intact?" Brennan asked.

Cam nodded. "Caucasian male, mid-30's from what I could tell at the moment. There's a significant amount of blood on the face, but no obvious injury to the head or upper torso to give COD. It's possible he died of natural causes and someone panicked."

Keller interrupted. "I know the death takes priority, but will I be able to open the mall tomorrow?"

"Since the body didn't get there on its own, it's a crime scene, Mr. Keller," Booth replied. "We'll do what we can to get you your mall back as soon as possible."

Obviously unhappy, Keller nodded, and Booth asked, "Who found the body?"

"Jenny Mack works for the company that maintains the trees," Cam answered, motioning toward the woman in a "Greenery by Greene" shirt. "She discovered the body when she arrived to do whatever it is she does to the plants. She screamed and the other security guard, Paul Fritz, came running."

"And Paul called me," Baxter said.

"Got it." Booth studied the scene for a moment and then looked at Cam. "Is that all the witnesses?"

"The mall was closing. Not many people were around and some who were left before we could lock the place down."

Booth nodded before turning to Sweets. "Bones and I will take Paul and Jenny. You take the rest of them…somewhere," he said, looking around. Spying the nearby food court, he pointed. "Maybe over there, and get names and addresses. The shoppers can probably be sprung unless they're here a lot, but the mall employees may have seen something." He turned to Baxter. Giving the guy something harmless to do would keep him out Booth's hair. "If you could help Sweets get that information, I'd appreciate it."

Both men nodded and turned toward the small group of bystanders. Sweets, at least, looked eager to get started.

"I believe it's good for Sweets to be involved," Brennan said softly. "He appears happy to have something to do."

Knowing Sweets was still reeling over finding and burying his mother, Booth said, "That's the idea, Bones."

Cam stretched and sighed. "I'm going to take a break for a bit while all of you do what you're going to do with people and while Hodgins finishes what he's doing with dirt."

She did look tired, and who could blame her? "Sounds like a plan," Booth said, as he motioned Brennan over to where Jenny Mack and Paul Fritz now stood by themselves. Jenny was a young black woman in her early 20's, he judged, and still looked shaken. Paul Fritz was older, though not by much. Around 30, Booth judged but he looked …off, somehow. "Ms. Mack? Mr. Fritz? I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth and this is my partner, Dr. Brennan. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Jenny nodded. "I don't know what I can tell you, though," she said. "He's dead, and he definitely shouldn't be where he is."

She sounded so certain on that point Booth nearly smiled. "No, he shouldn't be there. How often do you do maintenance on the plants?"

"Three times a week. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday."

"You were here, treating that tree, on Saturday?" Brennan asked.

"Yes. I check the moisture in the soil, add fertilizer if necessary, and look at the overall health of the plants. There was no dead body there on Saturday."

Booth and Brennan exchanged glances and he looked back at Jenny. "That's actually very helpful," he said. "So what happened this evening?"

"I could tell the soil had been disturbed, but thought at first that some kids had gotten up there. They do, you know – they get away from their parents and climb over the barrier. I sat my gear down, and knelt to smooth out the soil and realized it felt wrong. It felt lumpy somehow. Then I saw the plastic bag." Calming down as she talked about it, she rolled her eyes. "For a moment, I thought someone had buried something silly, you know? Kids hiding treasure for a scavenger hunt or something. But I pulled enough of the bag away to see, and…" her voiced faded and she shuddered.

Booth looked at Paul Fritz and watched as the man brought his hand up to rub eyes that were bloodshot. He motioned to toward the doors. "I was over there, at the south entrance where you all came in, locking all but one set of doors, when Miss Mack screamed. I came over, pulled back enough of the bag to confirm what she'd found, and then your Dr. Saroyan showed up. Per procedures, I called my boss and Mr. Keller."

"Do you feel okay, Mr. Fritz?" Brennan asked.

He shook his head tiredly. "Bad headache. Might be my sinuses acting up – that's caused my nose to bleed before." His voice slurred a bit, and Booth saw with alarm that his nose was, indeed, bleeding, and that there was blood beginning to seep from around his eyes, as well.

"Mr. Fritz?"

The guard staggered and Booth reached for him even as Brennan said, 'No! Don't touch him!" and tried to bump Booth out of the way.

"What the hell, Bones?" Confused and annoyed, he brushed her away, catching Fritz and lowering him to the ground.

"That's no ordinary nose bleed," Brennan snapped. "Don't touch him again." She reached into her bag, pulled out lab gloves and put them on, her gaze focused on the man Booth was kneeling next to. She bent, placed her fingers on his throat, then repositioned them with her expression growing increasingly grim.

"Bones?"

"Go wash your hands, Booth. Thoroughly. Do it now."

"What is it? What's going on?" He'd forgotten Jenny, who was backing away slowly from them. Her eyes, too, were on Fritz, and he was pretty sure she was thinking of screaming again.

He stood, torn between wanting to obey Brennan and the desire to reassure the young woman. "He's ill. Why don't you go join the others in the food court. We'll come update you there."

"He's not ill, Booth."

"Bones." He looked at her, silently begged her not to cause a panic and was relieved when she slowly nodded.

With a look at both of them that told him Jenny understood perfectly what was going on but was willing to be lied to, the young woman bolted in the direction of the food court where Sweets had taken the others.

Booth watched the other woman walk and then turned back to Brennan, doubting himself. "Should we have kept her over here?"

Brennan shook her head. "If it's a contagious infection, she shouldn't be in any more danger than anyone else. She didn't touch him," she added pointedly.

He looked over to see Hodgins assisting Cam back over the barrier and into the crime scene. "I'll go wash my hands. You go let Cam and Keller know there's a complication."

"Booth."

He turned to leave when her voice stopped him. She was staring at the crime scene, a frown on her face. "What, Bones?"

"Cam said there's a lot of unexplained blood on the face of the murder victim." She looked at him, and he saw worry now, if not fear. She glanced down at the bloody face of Paul Fritz, and back up. "This may not be a coincidence. What if we're dealing with a viral hemorrhagic fever?"

Booth stared at her for one frozen moment and then turned to run toward the crime scene with Brennan right behind him. "Cam! Hodgins!"

* * *

><p>Sweets had suspected something else had happened when Jenny Mack came to join them. She'd said only that 'the FBI guy sent me' but her manner was even more on edge than when he'd seen her earlier. But she hadn't volunteered any information, and he'd not asked. Instead, he had continuing questioning the witnesses while the congenial Baxter wrote down contact information.<p>

When Booth walked into the area of the food court where they'd set up camp, Sweets knew for certain something else was going on. Something worse than murder. The agent was completely shut down, his eyes flat.

"Sweets, Baxter," he acknowledged them and turned to the people in front of him. "Folks, we have a bit of a situation here."

"Is that what you call a dead body?" a kid who worked for the taco place in the food court asked with a smirk. Sweets had already realized he thought himself hilarious.

Booth stared at him until he subsided. "We're not sure what we're dealing with, but there's a remote possibility of contagion. Until we can eliminate it, we are all quarantined here."

"What?" One of the shoppers jumped to her feet. "I didn't see anything, didn't talk to anyone. You can't keep me here against my will."

Sweets glanced at his notes, pretty sure the woman's name was Beth.

Several of the others were standing, saying similar things, and Booth moved to block their most obvious exit – displaying his firearm as he did so. "Yes," he said. "I can."

"Since when does the FBI have the right to call for a quarantine?" A heavyset man who was the manager of a shoe store demanded. "I thought only the health department or CDC could do that."

"The chief pathologist of the Jeffersonian Institute is out there. Trust me. They listen to her," Booth snapped. He looked over the entire group, "We're under quarantine until we know exactly what the victim died of. We have the full support of the health department and the police. We will find out what's going on, but need for you all to sit tight."

"You can't keep me here. I need to get home to my kids," Beth said, and made another move to leave.

Booth blocked her again. "Anyone trying to break quarantine will be arrested and locked in an office," he said flatly. "And that's if I'm dealing with you. The cops guarding the exits may simply shoot you."

"Shit. It's that bad?" They'd all blanched at Booth's final comment, and the kid from the taco joint was finally completely serious.

"No," Booth said. "That's the point. We don't know what it is, but are going to err on the side of caution. No one leaves." Perhaps because they'd all settled down, in shock Sweets thought, Booth's tone eased, just a bit. "Three of the finest scientists in the world are out there. They want to go home, too. They're going to find out what's going on. We'll keep you in the loop." He waited a beat and then motioned for Sweets to follow him away from the group,

"The other guard dropped dead of a very bloody nose," Booth said without preamble. "Given the blood on the buried victim and – so far – the lack of a cause of death, Cam's afraid we're dealing with something contagious, so she called the quarantine. The health department's been notified."

"The mall cop is dead?" It took a moment to process it. "If he got it from the body, that's very fast acting."

"Impossibly so, or so Cam says," Booth agreed. "But there's simply too much we don't know to risk it."

Sweets' mind was completely blank, he knew there were things he should be doing. But at that moment, nothing came to mind. Claudia was the one with the dangerous job, not him. He gave himself a quick shake and looked at Booth. "What do you need me to do?"

Obviously pleased with the question, Booth said, "I need you to baby-sit this group," and nodded toward the food court, "and since we're still investigating a crime, let me know if any of them does anything off."

"Is it possible the mall cop was the one who hid the body?"

"Yeah, and we're looking into that. What's your take on his boss?"

"Baxter? He's solid. He's been helpful with the civilians, but not overbearing."

"Good. He can help you keep an eye on them. But for now, send him out. I want to find out what he knows about Fritz."

"Will do." His phone rang, and Sweets pulled it out, looked at the display. "It's Claudia."

"Tell her she might as well head to the Hoover," Booth said as Sweets prepared to answer. "I'm going to need her there."

Sweets nodded and turned away to talk to his girlfriend in private.

"Agent Booth?"

Booth turned and saw Jenny Mack standing there, "Yes?"

"I didn't tell anyone what happened to the guard, but…" she visibly tried to steady herself. "If he died of what the dead guy died of, am I going to die, too?"

"Do you feel okay?" Booth asked.

"Yes."

"That's good, then." In the distance, he could see Cam sitting on the ledge of the mountain, talking on the phone. "Give us a few minutes, and we'll see what Dr. Saroyan says."

"He touched the body, and I didn't. That's good, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I was wearing heavy gardening gloves when I pulled back the trash bag, but I think Mr. Fritz actually touched the dead guy." She shuddered.

"We'll ask Dr. Saroyan," Booth said again. "But yeah, I'd think that would be a good thing."

"Should I like, try not to breathe on anyone?"

Booth couldn't help but admire how hard the young woman was trying to keep it together. "It can't hurt," he finally said, and hoped he was telling the truth. "We'll let you know what we find out."

Sweets turned back to them, shoving his phone in his pocket. He appeared to struggle for a moment, then got his bearings and looked at Booth. "She's on her way to the Hoover."

"Good. Go ahead and send Baxter out to us." To Jenny, he said, "I'll come get you or send Dr. Saroyan over in a bit."

She nodded, and Sweets said to her, "Come back with me, and we'll start dealing with the paperwork. You wouldn't believe how much information's necessary when you find a body." He added an eye roll for effect. "It's worse than doing taxes." He glanced at Booth before steering Jenny back toward the food court.

B&B

Booth watched them go and then began walking back toward what he was coming to think of as 'the mountain.' As he did, he saw Brennan coming toward him, and slowed.

They met midway between the food court and the mountain, in another grove of trees. She looked tired and worried, and he reached out, ran his hand down her arm to link their fingers for a moment. "How are you doing?"

"Cam called Paul and Hodgins called Angela."

"And?"

Her fingers tightened on his, and she leaned over, rested her head on his shoulder for a moment before looking back at him. "If we're dealing with a viral hemorrhagic fever, how likely any of us are to develop symptoms, let alone die from them, varies tremendously depending on the specific virus and our general health. But Cam's baby…"

She faltered and Booth closed his eyes while resting his cheek on her head. "And Cam was not only close to the victim but had an extended conversation with Paul Fritz. Damn it."

Brennan took a breath, stepped back, and let go of his hand. "We still don't know there's a connection, Booth. We don't know for certain that there's not another explanation for the blood on the victim. And Fritz told Cam he didn't know the victim, so unless he was lying, it's possible there's no contagion at all."

"You don't drop dead of a nose bleed, Bones."

"No, but that doesn't mean we're at risk from what he died of."

"Right." He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. He was getting one hell of a tension headache. "So what's next?"

"Cam wants to move Paul Fritz into the freezer of one of the restaurants while we assess the victim."

"I hear a 'but' there."

"Mr. Keller isn't being cooperative."

"That's a shock." But that was something he could address. Booth turned, started toward the mountain.

Brennan fell into step with him. "Also, Hodgins is now in a bad mood."

Booth looked at her, raised an eyebrow. "Only now?"

"He argued with Angela, because she wanted to come here, be quarantined with us. They were very loud," she added.

"He told her no, didn't he?"

"As did Cam. Angela got louder at that point, and then hung up." She hesitated. "While I am glad she's not at risk, I understand why she wants to be here."

Booth looked over at her, fiercely wishing she'd been home in her apartment when Cam called him about the body. Knowing what she'd say if he said so, though, he decided against a pointless argument. "I'm glad Ang's not here, not at risk if it is a virus," he finally said.

They were close enough to the others now to see Cam and Hodgins talking, the latter rather animatedly, while Keller paced around nearby, ignoring them, a phone to his ear. Off to the side, Fritz's body was still where he'd fallen, a pool of blood around him. Keller made a point of staying out of sight of the body, and Booth had to admit he couldn't blame him for that.

They walked up to Cam and Hodgins, and Booth dropped onto the ledge next to Cam and stretched his legs out. She turned to him and he studied her for a moment. There was nothing he could do to put her mind at rest over the baby, so he didn't try. "What do you need?"

Gratitude was there for a moment and then she went all business. "The health department offered to send a team in, in haz mat suits. I told them we'd take the suits – they can leave them in the vestibule between the sets of doors."

"No one working for the health department has as much expertise as we do," Brennan said matter-of-factly, and Cam nodded in agreement.

"But they didn't know how long that would take. There's red tape, apparently," she said dryly.

"So what do we do while we wait?"

"We've got plenty of gloves, and masks, in the kit. Moving the guard to a freezer and getting the victim out where we can try to determine COD would be useful."

"How much will you be able to figure out without your equipment?" Booth asked.

"That depends," Cam responded. "We might at least be able to rule some things out."

"We need to know if they both died of the same thing," Hodgins said. "If they did, we're probably screwed."

Cam's eyes flickered away, and Booth glared at Hodgins. "Right," he said to Cam. "So where's the nearest freezer?"

Hodgins glowered at Keller, still on his phone. "There's a new restaurant being built in the next wing over. He says the freezer's in, powered on, bigger than the ones in the food court, and empty – they're expecting their first shipment of food in the next few days. But he won't open the restaurant for us."

"I can help with that." Baxter's voice was quiet as he walked up. "Fritz would have keys on him to every store in the building."

"Okay, then. We start by putting Fritz in the freezer. How do we do that as a safely as possible?"

"Put two masks on each, and double up on lab gloves. If we can find a tarp or plastic liner of some sort that would be good."

"Shower liners from the home goods store would probably work," Brennan offered.

"So. Home goods store, move the body. Then?"

"And then we need to get the victim out of the planter," Cam said.

"Right." Booth looked at Brennan and Hodgins. "Why don't you two go to the home store with Mr. Baxter and see what they've got that will help us. I'm going to call Turner and have her do a run on Mr. Fritz to see if that gives us anything, and then have a little chat with Keller." He turned back to Cam. "Will you go check on Sweets and the group in the food court? See if you can give them the feeling of being kept in the loop?"

"Without actually doing so, of course." For a moment, humor glinted in her eyes.

"I'm trying to avoid a panic, here." Booth sighed. "And …damn it. By now they've probably all called their families. Next thing we know, the media will be rioting outside the mall."

"Can't be helped, man," Hodgins said. "If you take their phones away, it will be worse."

"I know, but damn it." Booth shook his head and looked back at Cam. "I promised Jenny Mack you'd talk to her in particular."

"I can do that," Cam said.

B&B

Booth watched the others head off and then called Turner.

"You at the Hoover, Turner?"

"Yes, sir. Lance told me what happened."

"Good. I need you to do a run on Paul Fritz. He is – was - a security guard for a company called Securtec."

"Got it. Agent Booth?"

She hesitated, and he said, "Spit it out, Turner."

"I'm a little confused. Lance made it sound like the quarantine is routine, but that doesn't make much sense to me."

Booth rubbed his eyes. Everyone he worked with but Cam was involved with someone else they worked with, including himself and it got damned messy at times. "Quarantine's never routine, but this is more of a 'just in case,' decision." He hoped. "The victim's got blood on him that might be a hemorrhage, because nothing else seems to account for it, and then Fritz literally dropped dead of what appeared to be the same kind of thing. That's too much of coincidence to be ignored."

"I see. That does sound a little more serious than how Lance described it." Her voice was subdued.

"He probably didn't want to worry you. But so far, everyone's fine."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, Agent Booth. I'll call you after I finish the run."

"That'll work. Oh, and Turner? If it helps, Sweets didn't have any contact with the victim or with Fritz."

"That only helps where Lance is concerned, sir," she said quietly.

"Yeah, I know." Booth clicked off the phone and went to talk to Keller. The man was still on his phone and appeared to be talking to someone at the company that owned the mall.

"Look…I can't do anything about this," he was saying. "I understand keeping the mall in business is my job, but the FBI says we'll be closed until they know what happened. No, they don't seem to be interested in what's at stake!"

Idly, Booth wondered what the chances were of the mall being owned by Cantilever but then decided that would make his life too easy. He stepped in front of Keller and motioned for him to finish the call. He'd give the guy ten seconds to wrap the conversation before he simply took the phone away.

"The FBI wants to talk to me. I'll call you back if he tells me anything useful." He ended the call and looked at Booth irritably. "Well?"

If Keller thought Booth's purpose in standing there was solely to give him information, he was more confused than Booth had thought.

"Apart from security and the plant people, who has access to the mall after hours? Who could be on that mountain without being noticed?"

Keller frowned. "The cleaners are in the mall, though not on the display. I really can't think of anyone else apart from them, the gardener and security."

"Who does the cleaning and when?"

"The major work is done after the mall closes. Garbage in the restaurants and public area is taken out, floors are swept or mopped as necessary. Bathrooms are cleaned. The carpets in the kiddie areas are vacuumed, doors wiped down. Occasional work is done on a rotational basis. But they also have three day maintenance workers to clean up spills, check the bathrooms."

"Right. I'll want the name of the company and all their employees, particularly anyone who's been here in the last 72 hours. What kind of list do you have of mall employees?"

Keller looked at him blankly. "People who work for me?"

"No, the stores," Booth said. "Do you have a record of everyone who works in the mall?"

"No. I have contact lists of managers, in case something happens. You'll need to talk to them to find out who works for them."

"Let's go, then. Where's your office?"

"What?"

"Your office – you have one, right? I need the list of managers."

"Am I allowed to give you that without a warrant?"

Booth stared at him. "Are you trying to be difficult?"

"Um, no. No. I'm just hoping to have a job when the investigation is over."

"Being able to tell your bosses that you cooperated fully in order to get the mall reopened as fast as possible is probably a good way of doing that," he pointed out.

"Right. You're right. My office is this way."

B&B

Cam arrived back at the mountain in time to see Brennan, Hodgins, and Baxter coming toward her, their arms full. "What did you find?"

"Paint tarps, some shower liners, high-grade hand sanitizer, and heavier gloves," Brennan answered. "We can wear them while moving the body, as they're less likely to tear than our gloves."

"Good thinking." Cam looked over at Fritz's body. "Okay, let's go do this."

"No," Hodgins and Brennan said simultaneously. "We'll do it," Hodgins continued, with a glance down at her belly. "Not only should you not be helping to lift him, there's no point in exposing you to his body more than you need to be."

Touched, she rested her hand on the baby, felt her or him kick. She and Paul had a long-running joke where he'd ask whether the baby felt like a boy or girl on any given day. Today was definitely a boy day, though she couldn't have said why. She looked back at her friends. "I don't know if it will matter, but thank you."

"We're going to double layer gloves and masks, and wrap him in a tarp before we even pick him up," Sweets said.

"Will the two you be able to do it by yourselves? He's not a small man."

"I'll help," Baxter said. At their look, he shrugged. "There's no greater danger to me than to you two," he said, "I'm a retired cop. You do what needs to be done, don't you?"

* * *

><p>It took longer than Booth had expected it to get the information Keller had on mall employees, though he remained undecided about whether the man was being difficult on purpose or was just really that inept.<p>

When he finally had the lists, he escorted Keller to the food court where he found three of the seven sleeping, two doing something on their phones, one – the kid who thought he was funny – talking to Sweets, and one, the woman who'd demanded to leave, staring off into space.

They all jumped when he came into the area, and started asking questions. Booth held up his hands, waited until silence fell. "Nothing has changed," he said. "We're making progress investigating what's happened and the moment it's determined there's no threat, you'll be allowed to leave."

He motioned for Keller to sit down, then looked over as Sweets stood and came over to him. "Cam came down and gave them an update," he said softly. "She said the quarantine's just a precaution and they calmed down some after that."

Keenly aware they were being observed, Booth nodded. "You need anything?"

"No, we're good. I'm good." He held up his phone. "I got a text from Claudia a few minutes ago. She said she was busy running something for you, but just wanted to check in. That's a good feeling, you know? Having someone do that."

Booth did know and suddenly he wanted to see Brennan.

He headed back toward the mountain, arriving as Brennan, Hodgins, and Baxter lifted a tarp with the victim – still wrapped in trash bags and duct tape – onto a gurney. They were all wearing masks, as was Cam, standing nearby.

He walked up to her, was unsurprised when she handed him a mask. "So now what?" he asked as he slipped it on.

"We're setting up in the women's room." She pointed across the open area to a hall.

"Water, counters, drains. Smart," he said.

"We do what we can. Did you find out anything from Keller?"

"He's an inept pain in the ass."

"Nothing new, then."

"No. I'll update everyone all at once, but no, nothing new."

The bathroom was large and had not only a flat counter that Cam guessed was meant as diaper changing area, but also some comfortable chairs. "If I'd known these were here, I'd have been here hours ago," she said with a sigh as she settled into one. "The bathroom I've been using is much more utilitarian."

"It's still not especially well-lit," Brennan said with a frown. "Particularly in the middle of the room – the lights are all above the mirrors."

"It's better than the middle of the mall," Hodgins replied. "For all the good it will do us without a microscope." Then he shrugged and looked at Booth. "Did you learn anything?"

"I got a list of emergency contacts for the stores, as well as the supervisor for the cleaning crew. I spoke to her by phone and she said she'd get a list of everyone who worked the last two nights, but no one reported seeing anything out of the ordinary. They left Sunday evening at 9PM, and last night around 11:30."

"Jenny Mack said she left Saturday evening by 10:00PM," Brennan added. "So assuming the body wasn't buried when people were around, it would have to have been between 10:00PM on Saturday and this morning when the mall opened."

Booth turned to Baxter. "They do security walk-throughs the building at night?"

He shook his head. "They do door checks, and check the cameras, but unless something sets an alarm off, they don't routinely walk through after closing. The stores are responsible for a certain amount of their own security, including making sure customers are out and the gates are locked. My people check the common areas – bathrooms, and the like – and then lock up."

"Where are the cameras placed?" Booth asked, wondering why the hell he hadn't already done so.

Baxter shook his head. "There's not one angled right where we need it to be. I checked. There are two taking long views of the wing, but someone paying attention could bury the body without appearing on camera."

"But this body came into the mall recently, either already in this condition, or alive," Booth said. "We'll scan the footage from the entrances to see if he came in alone or with someone." He exchanged looks with Brennan, Cam, and Hodgins, and knew they were all thinking the same thing. This was Angela's area.

Cam cleared her throat. "Clark is at the lab. If we can get the footage to him, he should be able to figure it out. Angela left instructions for at least the more common tasks we need the Angelatron for. It's the specialized programming we'll have to wait for a replacement for."

"I'm sorry," Baxter said. "It should have dawned on me that footage from the entrances would be useful. So many people go in and out those doors, unless we have a narrow time window, we don't generally find the data helpful."

"We have the best facial recognition software possible," Cam explained. "It will run the footage looking for whatever we tell it to find."

"Or would, if we knew how to work it," Booth muttered.

With a quiet groan, Cam pushed herself out of the chair. "First things first. We're going to do this as by-the-book as possible, given the circumstances."

Hodgins snorted, and motioned around them. "You mean we'll write our own version of the book, per the usual."

Cam gave him a pointed look over her mask. "We took photos of the crime scene with the digital before we moved him, and we'll take more as we unwrap him. But first, we need to get a photo of the victim's face to send to Clark – and then we'll work on determining cause of death. We don't have to solve the murder here," she reminded them. "Only determine whether there's a risk to the population." She pulled a pair of scissors out of the kit, and said, "let's see what's beneath the plastic."

"If you don't mind, I'll go call the office and have my partner get started on the video footage for you all, and then I'll check in with your young teammate in the food court," Baxter said, backing away, his eyes anywhere but on the scissors Cam was starting to slide through the trash bags.

Brennan watched him go and then looked down as Cam paused to push some of the plastic out of the way. "I like him," she said.

"It's a pity Keller's not as useful." Booth looked down at what Cam had revealed of the victim. "Can you tell anything?"

"Not yet, no. No obvious reason for the blood." Cam used a small penlight to peer at the victim's face, paying particular attention to his nose. She seemed to falter for a moment, and when she looked up, Booth knew what she was going to say before she said it. "There is evidence of epistaxis, though." Her expression behind her mask was grim.

"Which is?"

"He was bleeding through his nose," Brennan said flatly.

For a moment, they were all silent, absorbing the implications of that. "Damn it." Booth said.

Cam seemed to steady herself and then reached into her bag. "I'm going to clean his face with wipes so we can get a better picture," she said. They were silent while she did so and then stuffed the wipes into a zip lock bag. "Who has the best camera on their phone?"

"Probably me," Hodgins said. "I got a new one just after we got back from Paris." He fished it out and turned the camera on.

Cam pulled out her own phone. "I'll call Clark so he knows what we need him to do." She punched the number in and then laid the phone down so she could resume cutting the bags off the victim.

"Clark Edison."

"Clark, this is Dr. Saroyan. We're going to send you photos of the victim's face and need you to try and match them in the databases."

"I understand."

"These are going to be pretty dark, Clark," Hodgins said. "We may need to try and clean them up some. I might be able to walk you through that."

"You won't need to," another voice said over the phone, and Booth knew he wasn't the only one grinning behind his mask.

"Ang? What are you doing there?" Hodgins asked, staring at Cam's phone.

"You didn't think I'd really leave you all on your own with this, did you?"

"It is very good to know you're there, Angela," Brennan said. "Dr. Edison is quite capable, but you will no doubt be able to do it faster."

"Damn straight, I will."

"Hey, Angela," Booth said. "We'll also be getting you video feed from the mall entrances. We'll be looking for when the victim entered the mall, however that happened."

"Got it. Is everyone feeling okay?"

"So far, so good," Hodgins responded. "But we've still not found a cause of death." He pushed some buttons on his phone. "I just sent three photos to your email, babe. Like I said, they're pretty dark. Malls aren't the best lit places in the world."

"I'll lighten them enough for the search," she said confidently.

Hodgins dropped his phone, picked up Cam's and turned off the speaker before walking outside. They heard him say, "You have no idea how glad I am you're there."

Booth, Cam, and Brennan all looked at one another. "I know it's foolish," Cam said, "but that really does encourage me."

"I know. It's not like she can prevent the spread of a virus," Brennan said, looking at Booth, plainly puzzled by her response. "But knowing she's there makes it easier, somehow."

"We're a team," he said simply. "We know what we're capable of when we're working together."

"I guess it's a good thing I hadn't yet had her access card deactivated," Cam said.

"You think that would have stopped her?" Booth asked.

Before they could respond, Hodgins came back in. "Ang says there's a science store here!"

Booth looked at him blankly. "What?"

"They might have something we can use."

"It's a toy store!"

"Actually, I remember Angela mentioning it after shopping here. She said she was impressed with their merchandise," Brennan said.

Booth thought it unlikely a science store would have anything that would make that much of a difference, but Brennan and Hodgins had done more with less while buried in a car. "Okay, then. Raid on the science store, next on the list," he said. "Let's go find Baxter." He looked at Brennan and Cam, motioned with his own phone. "Call if anything comes up."

B&B

"You take the photos," Brennan said. "I'll cut the plastic and peel it back."

Cam looked at the blood on her gloves. "You know it's unlikely to matter at this point, don't you?" she asked quietly. "If it's one of the more easily spread viruses, I'm as likely to have it as you."

"I see no point in taking unnecessary chances with the most vulnerable of us." She hesitated for a moment, then added, "Not all VHFs are transmitted from human to human, you know."

"No, but then how did two individuals with no known commonality beyond being geographically close both develop it – if it is a virus, and the same one?" Brennan didn't answer – couldn't – and only picked up the scissors as Cam lifted the digital camera. "What's that?" she asked as Brennan cut through the bags and duct tape.

"This?" Brennan pulled out a square of opaque cloth about twenty-five centimeters square. "I don't know. It looks like a sheet of fabric softener."

After the bags were cut apart, Brennan started on his clothes while Cam continued documenting with the camera.

Although most of the blood was around the victim's head, it was still difficult, messy work and Brennan sighed when the task was finished. "There is more than one reason why I prefer working with bones."

"Rigor's never an issue?"

"That one is high on the list at the moment."

B&B

Noise from the corridor had them looking up as Booth and Hodgins came in. "You'll never believe this," Hodgins said, as he settled the box he was carrying on the counter. "They have medical grade microscopes!" At Cam's doubtful look, he added, "Not lab quality, but this one – the best one they had – is intended for med school students."

Cam took a greater interest in it at that point, leaning over to read the side of the box. "It's better than the one I had," she admitted. "How much was it?"

"Six hundred bucks – I left them a note, by the way, assuring them it would be paid for."

"Six hundred dollars?" Cam's eyes above her mask looked affronted. "I paid nearly eight hundred for the one I had!"

Hodgins laughed, and started opening the box. "No accounting for price where technology's concerned."

Brennan looked over at Booth. "What about you? What do you have?"

"High powered light with an attached magnifying glass. Hodgins said it was essential."

"That will be very helpful," Brennan agreed. "Can you get it out of the box?"

As he did, he looked over at the victim. "We've shown you ours, now you show us yours. What did you find?"

"He was wearing jeans, a polo shirt, and loafers," Cam said. "Nothing too expensive or fancy, but not cheap, either. No ID on him."

"But he did have fabric softer sheets on him," Brennan noted.

Booth looked up from pulling the light out of the box. "He got dressed straight from the dryer and one stuck?"

"Dryer sheets," Cam said. "Plural. Lots of them."

Hodgins looked up that. "How many?"

"Forty-two."

"There were forty-two sheets of fabric softer in with the body? What, did someone think wrinkled was a by-product of dead?"

"My guess is that whoever wrapped him up hoped it would mask the smell of decomp," Booth said. "People have tried stupider stuff."

"So…whoever buried him, not clear on the concept," Hodgins said.

"It's probably safe to assume it's not someone who's buried a body before, at least." Booth looked at Cam and Brennan. "Anything to suggest conclusively that it's murder?"

"Not yet," Cam said. "We're just starting to examine the body. That's where your light will come in handy."

He plugged it in, positioned it on the counter, then helped Brennan wheel the gurney close enough to use the long-necked light. "Not that I'm complaining, but exactly why do women need electrical outlets in mall bathrooms?"

On the other side of the room, Hodgins, still unpacking the microscope, gave a choked laugh. "So not going there, man. Just not."

Brennan had stepped over to help Hodgins, but now turned to Booth. "The men's rooms don't have them?"

Cam had pulled the light over and was starting to study the victim. "Hello, people…body here," she said. "Let's see what we can see." She stretched her neck, and sighed. "I'm going to need to take a break in a few minutes."

Hodgins' phone rang, and he glanced at the readout, then said, 'It's Angela," as he pushed a button. "Hey, babe." He listened for a moment and then put the phone on speakerphone.

"How is everyone?" she asked.

"We're all fine so far, Angela," Brennan answered. "Of course, VHFs have a longer incubation period than five hours."

"Of course they do. What was I thinking?" Angela's laugh was rueful. "Anyway…I've got an ID on the victim. He's Allen Trout, a CPA. Age thirty-three. He's got his own business, works from home."

"A CPA, huh?" Booth looked over at the body. "Anything else?"

"He's single - divorced for three years. No kids, no criminal record."

Brennan frowned. "Has he traveled much, Angela?"

"No, not if you mean outside the U.S. No passport on file."

"Can you send me whatever photo is on file, Angela?" Booth asked. "I'll run it past our civilians and see if anyone remembers him."

"On its way. Oh, and the security company provided the mall video feed. I'm starting to run it now. I'll let you know when something pops."

She disconnected, and Booth pulled out his phone, watched until the photo arrived. "I'll be in the food court if anything comes up."

Brennan watched him go and turned back to where Cam was continuing to examine the body. She stood, started to reach around to her back and paused, looking at her gloved hands. On a sigh, she said, "So far, I've got nothing, at least not from eyeballing him. A completely unscientific guess says he's not been dead more than 48 hours, putting it at Sunday or Monday, not Saturday night. But help me turn him over, and we'll make sure he wasn't stabbed in the back."

"If that had happened, there would be more blood around the torso…oh. You're being humorous."

"Trying. Badly, but trying."

As Hodgins left the microscope to assist them, he said, "The scope's ready to go. I thought we'd start with this guy's blood, and then go get a sample from Fritz to compare it to."

Cam nodded. "At the very least, we should be able to confirm from that whether there's a common condition in the blood."

B&B

Turner called while Booth was enroute to the food court and he paused to talk to her, unsurprised that her initial run on Fritz hadn't turned up anything.

"I'm doing a deeper run now, but wanted you to know what the first pass showed. It's all pretty straight-forward, though."

"Yeah, he was a straight-forward guy who dropped dead in a mall," Booth grumbled. "Thanks, Turner. Keep working it. Right now, there's very little else to go on." He stretched his neck, closed his eyes for a moment. "We have the victim's preliminary identity, and that's about it. Oh, on that note…look into getting Allen Trout's phone records. We'll see who he'd been talking to the last few days. Angela should have sent you his information by now."

Everyone but Sweets and Baxter were asleep when he got to the food court, and even Baxter was threatening to fall asleep.. But they all woke up when he started passing the phone around.

Five of them, including Baxter, immediately said they didn't recognize Allen Trout. The woman, Beth, did so without actually looking at the photo, and for a moment, Booth fantasized about arresting her, just to irritate her as badly as she was irritating him.

Instead, he handed the phone to Adam Keller. Keller glanced at the image, hesitated, and said, "That's the dead guy? Yeah, I know him - he's my accountant. But I haven't seen him for a while. I know he comes to the mall sometimes, but I'm usually in the office. I don't see a lot of customers."

"When was the last time you saw or spoke to him?"

Keller frowned. "Six weeks, maybe? He primarily does my taxes."

"So you're not aware of any problems he was having?"

Keller handed the phone back, his lip curled just slightly. "Why would I be? We weren't friends."

Booth let it go, and handed the phone to taco boy. The kid stared at the photo for a moment, then looked up. "I'm pretty sure this is the guy I saw last night. Well, Monday, I guess it was. He was coming in when I was leaving, at about 7PM. I noticed because he sort of staggered when he came through the door and I wondered if he was drunk."

"About 7PM, you say?"

"Maybe a little later. I got off at 7PM, and didn't hang around."

"He was alone?"

"Yeah."

"Which doors?

"The west ones," he said, motioning. "They're closer to the food court."

"Thanks. That's helpful." Booth motioned for Sweets to join him, and started back toward their new base of operation, waiting until they were a distance away before speaking. "You doing okay? Any of them giving you grief?"

"Nah. They've decided I'm a powerless flunkey and don't want to get me in trouble."

Booth snorted. "You are a powerless flunkey. But if you need a break, they seem pretty calm at this point, and Baxter's probably capable of keeping an eye on them."

By unspoken agreement, they stopped and Sweets looked in the direction of the mountain. "Anything new?"

"No. Finding out that Trout walked into the mall on his own last night is the biggest breakthrough so far. That will save Angela some time."

Sweets went still. "Angela?"

"Oh, yeah. Guess that's new. She commandeered the lab, is running things from there."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Don't shrink it, Sweets. Just be grateful."

"I am. But I'm not surprised."

He wasn't going to ask. "Speaking of…I need to call her, tell her to focus on the video feed after 7PM. Yell if you need anything." With a wave, Booth started back toward the others.

* * *

><p>When he walked up, Cam was sitting in one of the 'comfortable' chairs outside the bathroom, her feet resting on the microscope box, her head against the wall.<p>

He was going to slip into the bathroom to see if Brennan and Hodgins were there, when she opened an eye, looked at him.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself." She sighed, and stretched, and rubbed her belly with one hand, her phone in the other.

"Everything okay?"

"Just needed to sit for a few minutes. I'm missing something in there, something important that I'm not seeing. Damn pregnancy brain," she muttered and looked at him. "You think it's a joke, that pregnant women forget stuff. That it's just from being tired, or distracted, or hormones. But it's not a joke. I think half my brain's on vacation, the other half is constantly going over how much I have to get ready, how much I have to finish before I leave the lab in Brennan's hands in a few weeks, and the timing is just plain lousy."

He wouldn't have touched any of that with a mile-long pole. "Where are Bones and Hodgins?"

"They went to get a sample of blood from Paul Fritz. I'm supposed to be taking an initial look at Trout's blood, but Bump decided I needed to take a break, and then Paul called."

"Bump?"

She smiled. "That's what Paul calls the baby." The smile faltered. "He's so worried, and there's nothing I can say to reassure him."

Without conscious thought, he glanced toward where Brennan was. Thought of Turner and Sweets, Hodgins and Angela. "Relationships aren't easy in the jobs we have."

"You'd know." Her voice was dry, and it was only then he realized what he'd said. Affection and understanding were in her eyes as she laughed softly at his expression but then she took pity on him and changed the topic. "Help me up. I want to take another look at the body."

B&B

Hodgins and Brennan pulled the cart with Fritz's body out to the middle of the restaurant kitchen. His feet and lower legs extended off the end, but they'd had to make do. They'd only had one gurney.

He started taking blood samples while Brennan plugged in their light, but then paused, distracted as she shifted its angle, then did so again. "The light's fine. I can see well enough to collect the samples."

She didn't respond but instead frowned and changed the angle again. Hodgins looked back at the body, but saw nothing he'd not seen before. But he knew that look. "What is it? What do you see?"

"Does he look jaundiced to you?"

Hodgins turned and studied Paul Fritz with his own frown. "Yeah. I guess there is a yellow tint to his skin, beneath the blood."

"We didn't notice it before because the lighting in the mall's not only inadequate, but also fluorescent." She positioned the light just a few inches above Fritz's face and leaned down to take a closer look.

And then, he understood. "Allen Trout isn't jaundiced."

"No. No, he's not." She stepped back. "Let's get the rest of the blood samples and get back to Cam. I need to find Booth. I want to know if Fritz has traveled outside the U.S. recently."

They returned to the women's room to find Cam examining Trout's blood under the microscope. Her expression was frustrated when she looked up. "I don't see any indication of virus, but it's possible this scope simply isn't powerful enough to see it." She turned, stared at the victim again. "But something's off. If he hadn't been buried the way he was, I'd think it was an overdose of an anticoagulant."

"We've got the samples from Fritz," Hodgins said. "Let's see what they look like."

Brennan looked around. "Where's Booth?"

"He's restless. I think he went to check on Sweets." Cam's response was distracted.

Unsurprised that her partner would be experiencing frustration by this point, Brennan went to find him.

B&B

As she left the bathroom, Brennan's phone rang. She looked at the readout and settled in the chair they'd moved to the hall earlier for Cam. "Hi, Angela."

"Hey, Bren. How are things going?"

She was doing better with connecting voice tone to emotion, but even if she hadn't been, she would have known Angela was tired and worried.

"I think Booth would say that we may have caught our first break. Paul Fritz appears jaundiced, Allen Trout does not. Hodgins and Cam are comparing blood samples right now."

"So that would mean they didn't die of the same thing, meaning no virus?"

"It suggests they may not have died of the same thing," Brennan agreed cautiously. "But either of them could still be a victim of a virus."

"Oh."

The discouragement in her friend's voice compelled her to add, "Not all viruses are transmitted human-to-human, Angela. If they both died of the same thing, there would be a higher probability that we're dealing with one that does. If they didn't die of the same thing, we may still be dealing with a contagious virus, but there's a greater chance we're not."

Angela gave an uncertain laugh. "I think when I work that out, it will be pretty much what Jack said."

"I would expect that to be true. Have you discovered anything on the video feeds?"

"I've confirmed that Allen Trout came into the mall via the west entrance at 7:11 PM on Monday. I've been looking at all the feed for all the entrances since that point, but so far I've not seen anything out of the ordinary. I've just reached the point in the feeds from when the mall was closing, though."

"That's when you're more likely to discover something."

"I know. I was just being thorough. Though hoping for someone coming in with 'murderer' stamped on his forehead was probably too optimistic, huh?"

She knew her friend was joking, but also knew her response would be expected. "I doubt very much that we would be so fortunate."

Angela gave a laugh that sounded off and then said, "How is everyone, Brennan? Really?"

Pleased because she understood Angela wasn't asking about their physical condition, she said, "We're fine, Angela. Tired. Frustrated."

"I'm worried about Hodgins. This has all been so rough on him, you know? The Creeps McGee stuff, my stuff, and now this."

"He's fine," Brennan said automatically and then wondered if it were true. Would she know? "Did he tell you about the microscope he found in the science store? He is quite excited by it."

Angela laughed and it sounded more relaxed. "Yeah, he did tell me about that." Then she sobered, "I wasn't sure if he was just trying to sound better than he is, though." Before Brennan could figure out how to respond, she went on. "This is all just wrong. It's still wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"The lab is both my place, and it isn't. Being there takes a toll on me, but apparently, so does not being there. I know I've been busy trying to create a guide to my equipment since giving Cam my resignation, but I feel like I've not really seen you in weeks. I miss you, Brennan. I was missing you before this, and now all of you are there, and I'm here, and I thought being away from the lab was what I needed and…"

She finally ran out of words and Brennan struggled to know what to say in the silence that fell. Unease because Angela wasn't the only one who'd been distracted lately made it harder. "This isn't an ordinary situation, Angela. I don't think you should second-guess your decision based on it. Even if you hadn't left the lab, you'd be unlikely to be in the mall with us."

"I know. But while part of me wants a break from the murder and death and sadness, I think the rest of me needs to be part of what you all are doing, whatever that is. I know that doesn't make sense," she said on a frustrated note. "Never mind. I've got to go. But when this is over, you and I are going to do a girl day," she warned before disconnecting.

B&B

Brennan stared down at the phone for a moment, at a loss, then stood and started toward the food court. She'd thought she was doing better with people, but whatever the right thing to say to Angela had been, she was pretty sure she hadn't said it.

She looked up and saw Booth coming toward her. He was walking slowly, head down, hands in his pockets, and her doubt grew. Would she do any better with knowing what he needed from her than she'd done with Angela?

Then he saw her and stopped. He cocked his head, studying her, and the doubts – about him, at least – faded. They didn't always understand one another immediately. But they never stopped trying.

The met in the trees midway between the mountain and the food court.

"You okay, Bones?"

It had been her intent to ask him what he'd been thinking about when he'd been coming toward her, to ask how he was. But what came out was, "It is my understanding that best friends tell one another things."

Apparently caught off guard, his response was cautious. "Usually."

"Angela is my best friend."

"And…?"

"I haven't told her about us."

He looked down at the phone in her hand, his expression a little incredulous. "You want to do that now?"

"Well, no. Of course not." She frowned.

He tossed his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "Let's take first things first, okay? Is there anything new with the body?"

"Yes." Relieved to switch to an area easier for her to navigate, she said, "I need to know if Paul Fritz has traveled recently to South America or the central area of the African continent."

He reached for his phone, began dialing even as he looked at her. "You have something."

"Perhaps."

He put the phone on speakerphone and barely let Turner identify herself before he said, "Have you finished the secondary run on Paul Fritz?"

"Some of it, sir. I'm still waiting for a few databases to complete the query."

"Does he have a passport? Has he used it?"

"Yes, sir. That's one of the searches that just completed. He was in Panama last week on vacation."

"Was he with a tour group?" Brennan asked.

"His landing card from when he returned noted he'd been visiting friends, so I don't think so."

"Why does that matter, Bones?"

"He would have been more likely to vaccinated against Yellow Fever if he was traveling with a group."

"Would his doctor know if he was vaccinated?"

"Not if he went to a clinic, but it's worth trying."

"I'll see what I can find out," Claudia said. "I've also got a preliminary phone record for Allen Trout that I'm starting to work."

"Good work, Turner. Let us know what you turn up." Booth clicked off and looked at Brennan. "Yellow Fever?"

"He's jaundiced, Booth. Trout isn't."

"So …Yellow Fever…?"

"It's one of the Arboviruses, and is only transmitted by mosquitoes."

"So humans don't get it from other humans?"

"No. We'd only be in danger if a mosquito bit him, then us."

Booth let out a slow breath. "Not a lot of mosquitoes in DC right now, Bones. But we still don't know what killed Trout."

"Exactly. If I'm correct, and it's worth noting that we have no conclusive proof that Fritz died of Yellow Fever, that doesn't mean Trout didn't die of a contagious virus."

"No, but the question still on the table is who buried him, and why, if he died of natural causes, contagious or not. We need to find him or her, either way."

"Absolutely. Did anyone in the food court recognize the victim?"

"Yeah. He's Keller's accountant."

"Is that significant?"

"Beyond indicating he was hard up for clients? I don't know."

"You don't like Keller."

"He's annoying the hell out of me. But that doesn't make him guilty of anything but being a nuisance."

They turned, started back toward the bathroom. As they drew closer to the mountain, Booth looked up, through the skylights and then at his watch. "Dawn's coming – the sun'll be up soon."

"The night is nearly over," Brennan agreed.

"So what's next? We think Fritz had Yellow Fever, and think Trout didn't. Where does that leave us?"

"Cam and Hodgins were comparing blood samples with the microscope. They won't be able to identify a virus conclusively with it, but how the samples are alike and different from one another is important."

They'd reached the hall leading to the bathroom, and Booth looked up again, in the direction of the skylights, and the lightening sky. "If we don't find something soon, we're going to have to think about food and whatever else is necessary for a longer quarantine." He pulled his mask back on, watched Brennan do the same.

* * *

><p>"Did you find anything?" Booth asked as they entered the bathroom. Cam was once more sitting, while Hodgins seemed to be comparing what he was seeing in the microscope with something on his phone.<p>

Cam shook her head. "Nothing conclusive, though the samples are definitely not from the same specimen."

"Of course they're not." He frowned.

"That's good, Booth. She means that they don't look the same, and that even if we can't account for the differences, it's as I was saying before – it's an indicator they didn't die of the same thing, which is important."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Cam said as she yawned behind her mask. "You two get anything?"

"I think Paul Fritz may have died of Yellow Fever," Brennan said. "Agent Turner confirmed he's just returned from Panama."

Hodgins turned to look at them and Cam sat up straighter. "That's not transmitted human-to-human," she noted, and behind her mask, her eyes gleamed.

Hodgins picked up his phone. "It probably won't do any good in terms of what we can see, but I'll have Clark send me photos of blood infected with the Yellow Fever virus." He walked out.

Cam turned, stared at Trout's body. "We still need to know how he died, though."

Booth's phone rang and he glanced at Brennan and Cam as he answered it. "Hey, Angela."

"I think I might have something. Nothing conclusive, but given the circumstances, suspicious. I'm sending you a couple of screen shots. This guy entered the mall at 8AM Monday morning, wearing a suit. He left, out one of the side doors, not a major entrance, at 4AM Tuesday morning, wearing gym clothes. Grimy ones."

"As in 'he was burying someone' grimy?"

"Exactly like that. The sweatpants are too dark to really tell, but the white t-shirt's streaked with what looks like dirt. He's wearing a jacket, but it's hanging open."

Booth was completely unsurprised by the image that opened on his phone. "It's Keller. Got you, you bastard," he muttered, and passed the phone to Brennan, who held it out so Cam could see it as well.

Before he could comment further, Hodgins came in, followed by Sweets. "Sorry, guys, but I just needed to walk around for a bit," the latter said. "I'm falling asleep, and…whoa, dead body."

Distracted from the image on the phone, Booth looked over at him. "This surprises you?"

"Mask, Sweets," Cam snapped, and tossed him one.

He put it on, then looked apologetically at Booth. "No, I knew he was dead, but most of the bodies they work on don't look so completely like …people." He frowned and bent down so he was at eye level with the end of the gurney, puzzlement apparent. "Does that happen to everyone when they die?"

"What?" Brennan asked.

"The bottoms of his feet are purple. Is that-"

He never got to finish. Pregnant or not, Cam was out of her chair and rounding the gurney to see what Sweets was looking at. "Damn it. I knew there was something bothering me, something I wasn't paying enough attention to. Someone shine the light over here."

Hodgins did, and they all saw what Sweets had noticed. The bottom of Allen Trout's feet were indeed a purplish/blue.

"So what does that mean?" Booth asked.

"Cholesterol embolism," Cam answered. "Sometimes known as purple toe syndrome – though it's not limited to the toes. If it had been, I might have noticed it."

"But what does it mean?" he repeated, hanging onto his patience by a thin thread.

"It's a complication from various anti-coagulant drugs. Blood thinners. It's caused by small amounts of cholesterol breaking free and settling in the blood vessels of the feet. In particular, it's frequently seen with overdoses of Warfarin, a blood thinner."

"So an overdose of blood thinner can look like a virus?"

"Yes, at least in this case, because it can cause hemorrhaging."

"Warfarin's also used as a rodenticide," Hodgins contributed. "And I have to say that given where we found him, it may be more likely he died of rat poisoning than an accidental overdose of a blood thinner."

"Is there a way of knowing conclusively it's rat poisoning?" Booth asked.

"Not here. At the lab, we can check for levels of vitamin-K, and there are certain tests I can run on the liver in autopsy. But the evidence is mounting that neither of these men died of something contagious."

Brennan handed Booth his phone back. "We need to know what Keller was doing here."

"Keller?" Sweets asked.

Booth passed him the phone and brought both the other men up to speed on what Angela had found on the video feed. "I'm going to go have a little chat with him." His glance took in both Sweets and Brennan. "Want to come?"

B&B

Although they were awake, the group in the food court barely stirred this time when Booth, Brennan and Sweets walked in. Definitely time to spring them, Booth thought. He walked over, stood behind Adam Keller and then looked around at the others.

"It's been determined that the victim did not die of a contagious disease," he said. "You can go. We thank you for your cooperation." He looked over at Baxter. "Would you escort them out the west entrance, please, and make sure they get to their vehicles? The police at the door have been notified."

Obviously curious, Baxter nodded, stood, and turned to those who were getting their stuff together and heading toward the exit. Keller started to stand as well, and Booth pushed him back down. "Not you. We need to have another chat."

Keller's mouth opened and closed a few times, then he nodded. But his eyes were darting around nervously in a way that reassured Booth it was going to be a short interview.

With the others on their way out, Booth settled across from Keller. Brennan sat to his right, and Sweets took the seat next across from her. That's right, thought Booth. Surround the little prick.

"I need you to clear up a few things for me, Mr. Keller."

He cleared his throat. "Certainly."

"We know you arrived at the mall Monday morning around 8AM, wearing a suit. Mr. Trout – your accountant - arrived a few minutes after 7PM. Sometime after that, he was buried in the planter. You then left from a side door at 4:05AM. But you were no longer wearing a suit. Please explain that to me."

Sweat beaded on Keller's forehead, and he tugged on his collar. The man was a walking cliché as far as murder suspects went. But clichés were clichés for a reason. "I was working late," he finally said.

Brennan made a noise of disbelief, and Booth couldn't blame her. But this was the guy who'd thought forty-two fabric softener sheets would mask the smell of decomp, after all. "I see. Why did you change clothes? And when?"

"I was cleaning my office. You wouldn't believe how dirty it gets behind the computer."

"Isn't that poor management to have to do that yourself rather than the cleaning crew?"

Keller's mouth worked again before he finally said, "I don't believe so."

Suddenly tired of screwing with him, Booth placed his phone on the table, and leaned forward. "See this phone? I'm waiting for it to ring, waiting for an agent to get back to me with Allen Trout's phone records. What are the chances that some of the calls will be to or from you, Mr. Keller?"

He swallowed. "Uh, we might have spoken."

"More recently than six weeks ago?"

"Possibly," he said. "Probably. Yes."

"Pick one."

"Yes. There will be recent calls to me from his phone."

"So you lied about how long it had been?"

"I made a mistake."

"I see. And will we find your fingerprints on the trash bags and duct tape that Allen Trout was buried in?"

It was a guess and it was always possible Keller would say no. But if Booth were still a betting man, he'd consider it a safe bet that the man who'd gone the fabric softener sheets route probably hadn't been thinking about fingerprints.

Keller stared down at his hands as if they'd betrayed him. "Probably," he acknowledged on a sigh. "Yes." Then he looked up, a curious mix of defeat and anger on his face. "He was going to turn me in," he said. "He wasn't 'comfortable' with some of my financial decisions relevant to the company."

"You were embezzling."

"I wasn't doing what anyone wouldn't do," he sneered. "I wasn't hurting anyone. But he was going to cause me to lose my job."

"If you were embezzling, it would have been more than your job," Brennan observed.

"So what did you do?" Booth asked.

"I slipped rat poison into his drinks."

"How?"

"He invited me to his place so we could 'look at the books.' He was trying to talk me into coming clean. I waited until he was out of the room, then dumped it in his milk and juice." He shrugged.

"You didn't worry about poisoning someone else if they had drank it?"

Keller snorted. "He was a CPA, for God's sake. No one visited him."

"So what happened Monday?"

"The idiot was supposed to die at home. Instead, he showed up here, so sick he could barely walk, and then died, right in my office." He shuddered. "It took me hours to get the blood up off the floor."

"He still wanted you to confess to the embezzling?"

"Yeah. Can you imagine?"

Booth exchanged looks with Sweets and Brennan, saddened by the thought of a man who had died while still trying to get another man to do the right thing. Then he stood. "Adam Keller, you're under arrest."

* * *

><p>Cam sighed and leaned back in her chair at Founding Fathers, the sigh threatening to turn into a moan when Paul's hand settled on the back of her neck, began to rub.<p>

They were all exhausted. She'd taken a nap in her office that afternoon while awaiting test results from the autopsies, but she knew that some of the others hadn't. They'd been up for close to 36 hours, and yet, here they were. All knowing they'd sleep better when they finally made it to their beds for having taken the time to unwind – together.

Four couples – well, three couples and whatever Booth and Brennan were – relaxing with the people who understood them best. She liked that Agent Turner had felt comfortable enough to join them. It could have been weird for her, Cam supposed, given Booth was her boss. But the dynamic between them was both respectful and easy.

"So you confirmed the rat poison and Yellow Fever?" Sweets asked.

Cam nodded. "Yes. It really was just a coincidence that the two deaths happened at the same place at nearly the same time."

"The mall is re-opening tomorrow," Hodgins said. "Or at least most of it is. Apparently the restaurant's opening is going to be delayed while they put in a new freezer."

"And you know this because…?" Booth asked.

"I called the science store manager to make arrangements for paying for the microscope and light. He was pretty psyched when I told him the scope was really useful. Said he'd stock more of those, and use the story to sell them."

"Never know when a good microscope will come in handy," Booth said blandly. "Maybe one should be added to the crime scene kit."

"That would make the kit too heavy," Brennan objected. Cam was almost certain she knew Booth was joking and was responding in kind.

Then Brennan turned to Angela, and all hints of humor fled. "How are you, Angela?"

Puzzled, the artist cocked her head. "What do you mean?" Understanding registered, and she smiled. "Oh, you mean about my situation at the Lab." Her glance took in everyone at the table, then her eyes met Cam's. "Cam and I discussed it this afternoon. It seems I need to be a part of what we do nearly as much as I need breaks from it," she admitted. "So Cam suggested I take two days off a month, anytime I need to, to work on my art and just step back from it all."

"The only caveat," Cam added, "is that it can't be during an active murder investigation."

"Actually, it's usually right after one of those cases that I feel most desperate to escape rather than while they're happening."

Brennan took a sip from her wine glass. "That sounds like a logical course of action." She glanced around the table, then back to Angela. "We were all very relieved when we knew you were in the lab."

"Thanks, guys. Even before Hodgins called to tell me about the quarantine, I knew that sitting at home – even painting – while you all were working a case probably wasn't going to work."

They fell quiet for a moment and then Booth lifted his beer. "To us. To all of us."

"To us," they chorused.

* * *

><p><em><strong>What happens in the lab when the team doesn't have a case? What happens when Cam goes into labor? What happens when everyone finds out about Booth and Brennan? What surprising secret do Fischer and Arastoo have in common? All these questions and more are answered next week, in The New Chapter in the Old Story by NatesMama.<strong>_


	10. The New Chapter in the Old Story

Episode 6.5 x 10: The New Chapter in the Old Story ~ Written by NatesMama

_8:04 AM - Chevy Chase, Maryland_

Cam absently spread butter on her English muffin as she watched the morning news on the small television on the kitchen counter across from the breakfast nook where she and Paul sat. Taking in the spread on the table in front of her, she searched for her favorite jam to add to the already-laden muffin on her plate when another cramp settled across her abdomen.

Checking the clock on the stove and smiling slightly, she nudged the man eating his eggs beside her. "Paul. I think I'm in labor. Maybe since last night, twelve minutes apart right now."

Paul nodded and placed his hand on her belly, noting the tightness contracting and expanding. "When last night? Before you fell asleep?"

Cam shook her head. "No, around two, when I got up to use the bathroom."

"Water break?"

"No, I would have told you."

"Good." He looked at his watch. "Well, twelve minutes, plenty of time." He patted her stomach, and then looked around the table. "You need your blackberry jam, honey?"

"Please." She watched as he crossed the kitchen to retrieve the sweet spread she had been craving every single morning of the last nine months. Looking down at her expanded middle, she pushed aside the slight nervousness she was feeling and allowed herself a grin.

"Well kiddo…here we go."

* * *

><p><em>8:17 AM - Royal Diner<em>

"I'm trying to understand it, Booth. I promise. It's just…baseball is so boring." An uncharacteristic whine from Brennan made Booth smile. "I prefer hockey. It's much more exciting."

"So do I, Bones. It's okay about the baseball, really. When the Phils are in town I can take Parker or Wendell or Hodgins. You don't have to feel obligated." He passed her the sugar shaker for her coffee. "But when the Flyers are here? It's you and me, baby."

Sighing, Brennan nodded. "I just want to be supportive of your usual leisure activities, Booth. You were nice enough to attend that lecture on modern Ethiopian burial rites with me last week and you even managed to stay awake for the entire question and answer period." She tapped his hand sitting on the table. "I really appreciated that."

"It turned out to be pretty interesting, Bones. I didn't know that 60 percent of Ethiopians were Christian."

"You were paying attention." Brennan leaned back and smiled. "I thought you might enjoy it, just a little."

"Yeah, well…I enjoy spending time with you, doesn't matter what it is."

They exchanged contented smiles filled with words that didn't need to be spoken aloud, all noise and clatter from the diner around them seeming to disappear. The moment was interrupted by the sudden appearance of their former psychologist and his girlfriend.

"Hey guys, good morning!" Sweets gestured to the seat next to Booth. "You mind if we join you?"

"Nah, come on. Sit." Booth moved his chair forward so Sweets could squeeze in next to the window. Since the discovery of Sweets' mother during their trip to Savannah, Booth had been making an effort to be nicer to the kid. He nodded at Claudia as she settled next to Brennan and across from Lance. "Morning, Turner. You get that paperwork done from last week's Bentley case?"

"On your desk, sir." Claudia grabbed a menu and started reading. She glanced to her left and smiled. "Good morning, Temperance."

"Good morning, Claudia." She gave her companion a conspiratorial grin. "Did you watch Big Brother last night?"

Claudia turned to face Brennan with a matching smile. "You bet I did! Can you believe what a whiner Rachel is?"

"I have to admit, for someone who has played the game before; she seems to not understand the dynamics involved. She is overly emotional and that can't be good for how she is perceived inside the house."

Booth and Sweets looked at each other with matching shrugs. "You know, Sweets…I blame you for Bones' recent interest in reality television."

"Me? Why? Claudia was the one who hooked her."

"I just prefer to blame you. It's always worked for me before." Booth stirred his coffee and then tapped the spoon on the side of his cup. "Uh, ladies? Could we talk about something else? No offense, but that stuff gives me a headache. Bad enough I have to watch it, I'd rather not have it analyzed while I'm trying to enjoy my breakfast."

"Alright, Booth." Brennan glanced at Claudia. "We can talk about it later."

"Definitely. Besides, I wouldn't mind talking about how things are going between the two of you." Claudia pointed between Booth and Brennan. "You seem…well, actually you don't seem any different."

"Why would we be any different simply because we have added a sexual component to our relationship?" Unconcerned at Claudia's knowledge of their change in status, Brennan ignored Booth's grimace.

"And how did you find out about it, anyway?" Booth glared towards Sweets, who held up his hands in defense.

"Hey, I don't keep anything from Claudia, and she hasn't told a soul!"

Claudia nodded. "I promise, boss. Not a word. However…" She looked at Brennan. "As much as I enjoy girl talk, I need to put a halt to any discussion of your sex life with me. I mean, Booth is my superior and I really don't need to know any of that, at all."

"I understand. I don't think that Booth would appreciate it if I shared any of that with you, in any case."

"No, he would not." Booth stirred his coffee in irritation. "Let's keep the professional and private separate, if you don't mind."

"Although…" Claudia grinned conspiratorially at Sweets, who shook his head in warning. "You have to admit, you people at the Jeffersonian really seem to like to pair off. You two, Lance and Daisy, Angela and Hodgins…"

"Booth and Cam at one time." Brennan offered, taking a bite of her fruit and smiling innocently across the table at Booth.

"Bones!"

"Whoa." Claudia looked between the two next to her. "Boss, you used to date Dr. Saroyan?"

"That was a long time ago." He glared at Brennan. "Long enough to not even merit mentioning."

"And it doesn't bother you, Temperance?"

"At the time, Cam and I didn't really care for each other, so the timing was…unfortunate." Brennan shook her head. "But no, the fact that they were engaged in a mutually beneficial sexual relationship did not upset me."

"You're a better woman that I am, Temperance." Claudia winked at Sweets. "We saw Daisy the other night at Nobu and I truly just wanted to scratch her eyes out."

Brennan raised her eyebrows in confusion. "Why? Ms. Wick and Dr. Sweets' relationship ended long before you ever met. We all have a past. Jealousy with concern to former sexual partners is irrational."

"Maybe, but they were engaged. It was more than a 'former sexual partner' kind of thing for both of them."

"Claude…" Sweets looked pained.

Smiling brightly, Claudia reached across the table and took his hand. "It's fine, really. I know it's irrational, but she hurt you. That's why I want to smack her, and then thank her."

"Thank her?" Brennan asked.

Eyes still on her boyfriend, Claudia murmured. "Yes. If she hadn't left, we never would have gotten together. So, I feel very grateful for that fact."

"That is very logical…and romantic." Brennan leveled her own soft smile at Booth, who hadn't taken his eyes off her the entire conversation.

"Very romantic. You're just a softie, Turner. Who knew?"

Claudia shook her head as her boss made what could only be described as goo-goo eyes at the woman across the table. "There's the pot calling the kettle black."

"Hey, I-" Booth stopped, mid-protest. "You know what? Yeah. I am a romantic guy. I can live with that."

Brennan nodded. "You really are. And I appreciate the extra effort you put forth."

Booth leaned forward, elbows on the table in front of him; ignoring their breakfast companions as his voice dropped in timbre. "Yeah?"

Mimicking his pose, Brennan smiled softly. "Yes. I am most appreciative of your…efforts."

"Um, yeah. Whoa." Sweets stood up, his chair scraping the floor loudly. "You ready, Claudia? I'm ready."

Claudia rose slower, amused. "Yes, I think it's time we get going. Temperance, I'll call you later?"

"Of course." Brennan's eyes never left Booth's. "Have a good day, Claudia. Sweets."

"Yeah, you kids have fun." Booth winked at Brennan with a grin. "We'll get breakfast."

"Thanks, boss. See you later." Claudia tossed over her shoulder as Sweets practically pushed her out the door of the diner.

Booth snickered as they both leaned back, satisfied smiles on their faces. "That was good, Bones. Scared the kid right off."

"I find that I like Dr. Sweets more in small doses. Sometimes I have to engage in subterfuge to separate myself from him, and I have been practicing." She looked inordinately proud of herself.

"Well, you did well, Grasshopper."

Brennan's forehead wrinkled momentarily in confusion. "Why are you referring to me as an Orthoptera Caelifera?"

Not wishing to delve into the psychological reasons why her confusion over pop culture never failed to charm him, Booth just shook his head, stood, and threw some money down on the table. "C'mon, Bones. Let's get to work."

* * *

><p><em>9:00 AM - Jeffersonian Institute Medico-Legal Lab<em>

"I'm just saying, Ang…it says a lot about how you really felt when you hadn't even started packing up your office." Hodgins held the door open for his wife as they both made their way into the lab proper. "Deep down, you knew you couldn't really leave." At the raised eyebrow from his better half, he grinned. "Hey, I just call it as I see it."

Sighing as she headed towards her office, Angela decided that conceding was less of a pain than listening to Jack harp on the subject for the rest of the day. "Alright. Fine. You win, Hodgins. I couldn't pack up my office because I really wanted to stay. And now, I am staying." She stopped and put her hand on her hip. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Jack grinned, ignoring Angela's indignant huff as he walked away.

"Arrrggghh!" She growled.

"Is there a problem, Angela?"

She turned and watched as her boss waddled towards her, Paul holding her elbow to escort her along as they headed towards Cam's office. "Are you alright, Cam?"

"She's in labor, actually. Please tell me that Dr. Brennan is here." Paul looked around hopefully.

"What? You're in labor and you're not at the hospital?" A voice called from behind them.

Cam turned slightly and nodded as Booth and Brennan came up behind the group. "Seeley, I have a few papers to sign and I need to make sure Brennan has the calendar of meetings with the board before I go. I didn't expect to go into labor two weeks early, and this needs to be done."

"Generally, first-stage labor for a first pregnancy tends to be as long as eight hours, and Cam does not appear to have experienced a contraction in the last few minutes so she should be fine." Brennan nodded decisively. "I assume that Dr. Lidner would know, better than we, whether or not it is appropriate for Cam to stop here on their way to the hospital, correct?"

"She has plenty of time, Booth." Paul glanced at Cam, who was panting slightly as she felt the onset of another contraction. "We're down to ten minutes apart. I don't even advise most moms to head for the hospital before seven to eight minute intervals, but we should get this show on the road." He rubbed Cam's back as the contraction crested and faded. "Okay?"

"Mmmhmm." Cam nodded. "But let's get this done so I can get some drugs."

Booth took Brennan's bag off her shoulder and pushed her in her boss's direction. "Bones, you go with Cam and get her out of here. I'll take your things to your office and start on this paperwork."

"Alright…" Brennan gave Booth an odd look as she shuffled off behind a still-panting Cam. Booth winked at Angela and turned to head for Brennan's office, whistling.

With a deep breath and a shake of her hair, Angela let her face break out in a toothy grin. "God, I missed this place."

Twenty minutes later, a determined Cam stepped into the doorway of Brennan's office as Paul stood off to the side chatting quietly with Brennan. "Seeley? We're heading out."

"Don't call me Seeley, Camille." Booth stood and crossed to hug his friend.

Cam wrapped her arms around him as far as she could and smiled into his shoulder. "Don't call me Camille, Seeley." She looked up into Booth's eyes, suddenly overcome with a tenderness that she would forever attribute to a surge of hormones. "I'm going to have a baby."

"Yeah." Booth fought off his own emotional response to the sheen of tears in Cam's eyes. "You are. And you're going to be an amazing mom, Cam."

"You think so?"

"Not a doubt in my mind." He leaned down and hugged her again. "You'll be great. Unconventional, maybe. But you know that the best kids have the most interesting parents." They parted and he reached out and squeezed her hand. "Everything here is under control. Go. Make a family."

Cam suppressed the sob that threatened to escape her as she lightly slapped Booth on the shoulder. "Damn you, Booth. Don't make me cry now."

"Sorry." Not looking the least bit sorry, Booth looked up at Paul, who had come up to take Cam's elbow again. "Take care of them. And congrats, Dad."

"Thanks, Booth." Paul replied, shaking the other man's hand. "We'll call with updates."

"Good luck, Cam." Brennan said, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. "And I assure you, I will have no problems running the lab in your absence."

"I have no doubts about that, Dr. Brennan. Thank you." They gave the partners a wave and made their way to the exit.

Booth and Brennan watched them for a moment, both uncharacteristically quiet. Then, with a sidelong look at the other, they turned and headed into Brennan's office to start their workday.

* * *

><p><em>10:05 AM - George Washington University Hospital<em>

"Hey Dr. Lidner, Dr. Saroyan. How are we doing this morning? Are we ready to have a baby?" The relentlessly chipper nurse with the unfortunate name of Flower busied herself checking Cam's vitals and generally making sure that everything in the room was in perfect order. Normally, Cam would appreciate the attention to detail the young woman was paying her job, but with painful contractions searing her midsection and an innate sense of decorum warring with the need to have her lower half easy accessible, she was not feeling very charitable at the moment.

"Well, Flower, _we_ are fine. And as far as if _we_ are ready to have a baby…I don't know about you, but I certainly don't have my lady parts hanging out for God and everybody to take a peek for nothing."

Flower, to her credit, simply smiled and pulled a warm blanket over Cam's legs. "You just relax, and I'll send Dr. Hanson in as soon as he arrives." And with a quick pat to her leg, the nurse squeaked out of the room.

"Cam…" Paul warned. "I know you're uncomfortable and in some pain, but they really are here to help you. They're good people; I've been working with them for years."

Sitting up as much as she could, Cam glared. "Look…" At Paul's slight stiffened demeanor, she shook her head ruefully, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry, Paul. I really am. I just can't seem to control the things coming out of my mouth."

"I know, I understand…I do. And so does the staff." He chafed her hand between both of his. "But being cranky and being nasty…there's a fine line. I know Flower is incredibly cheerful, but believe me…in a few hours, when you're really hurting and the contractions are coming closer together; there isn't a better OB nurse on the floor. She is incredibly nurturing and sweet and we're lucky she was assigned to us."

Tears pricked at Cam's eyes as she nodded. "Now I feel horrible for snapping at her." She sniffed pitifully. "I'll apologize to her when she comes back."

"Apologize for what, Cam? Are you throwing things at the nurses already?" The figure standing at the door grinned.

"Michelle!" Cam grinned through her tears. "Come in, please. Give Paul a break from my bitchiness."

Her daughter laughed as she crossed the room to pull Cam into a tight hug. "How are you feeling? Is it…" She paused, her forehead lined in worry. "Is it really painful?"

"It isn't fun, that's for sure." Cam smiled wearily. "But it could be worse. Or, it will be."

"She's doing great." Paul assessed. "Labor is called labor for a reason, she's entitled to a little grumpy behavior." He stood from his seat next to the bed. "Since Michelle is here, why don't I go get you some more ice and call my parents?" Addressing Michelle, he smiled. "Just hold her hand during the contractions and agree with whatever she says. Piece of cake."

Paul leaned down to kiss Cam while Michelle looked on. After he left the room, Michelle placed her hand on Cam's distended abdomen. "He loves you both so much. You're lucky to have him."

Laying back to relax between pains, Cam sighed. "We all are. He loves you, too you know."

"I know." Her voice caught on the last syllable. "We're all lucky."

* * *

><p><em>10:30 AM - Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab<em>

Booth relaxed against the back of Brennan's office sofa as he watched her call all her available interns in for the day. Once Cam had turned over the lab to her, Brennan immediately pulled out a list she had prepared months ago, outlining everything she wanted to accomplish in her boss' absence. Booth knew that more than half of whatever she had planned would mean absolutely nothing to him, so instead he asked about the interns.

"Bones, what's with the squinterns all coming in? Don't you usually have just one?"

Brennan picked up her list and moved to sit next to him on the sofa. "When the lab is operating under normal circumstances, of course only one intern is necessary. However, because we are currently without a case, and dissertations are coming up soon, I thought it would be prudent to allow them all to avail themselves of the lab's resources while they could."

"Cam doesn't let them do that?"

"Sometimes, but only when we are not busy, which is not very often. If I remember correctly, the last time we had more than a few interns in the lab was almost two years ago."

"Ah. Okay." Booth leaned a little closer to Brennan, absently rubbing her thigh. "So what do you have planned for the Mini-Yous?"

Fighting an eye roll at Booth's four hundredth nickname for her interns, Brennan pulled out a sheet of paper. "Mr. Vaziri will be helping out in the Enthology department, as he has decided to focus his doctorate solely on Cultural Anthropology. The department head, Dr. Roush, is preparing to spend a year in the Omo River Region of Southwestern Ethiopia studying the Amhara people and he requires several students to travel to the region with him to assist. It will delay Mr. Vaziri's doctorate studies, but the opportunity is invaluable and his presence in the department now will go a long way towards securing him a position on the team."

"And your recommendation probably doesn't hurt." Booth grinned with pride.

"Maybe." Clearing her throat, Brennan continued. "Mr. Fisher is also changing his focus of study, to Archaeology. And because the Jeffersonian has one of the largest and most comprehensive departments in the world, he would be best served interning part-time under Dr. Kant and this provides the perfect opportunity for him."

"What about Wendell? I heard you call him in. Don't tell me he's dropping forensics too?"

"No, Mr. Bray has already begun working on his dissertation for his forensic anthropology doctorate, which is a relief as he is my most talented intern. He will be focusing on several sets of Maori warrior remains for his thesis, and the quiet will give him ample time to continue his research." Brennan shuffled more papers. "Also, I have some general cleaning tasks that need to be performed, as well as a full lab inventory and at least three board meetings to attend this week alone."

"Yeah? So, a lot of late nights, then?" Booth tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he drew slow circles on her leg.

"I'm afraid so, Booth. I will try to leave the lab as soon as I am able. We could try for late dinners?" She looked hopeful despite the pout he was wearing.

Taking her hand, Booth let his mouth turn up into a half-smile. "I can live with that, especially if late dinners turn into early bedtimes…" He leaned forward to kiss her, shaking his head when she pulled back. "Bones, no one is around."

"I just…" She turned to peek out her doorway. "I thought you wanted to keep things quiet for now."

"I suppose." He sighed and ran his hand over his face. "I've just always had a thing for powerful women in charge, and you…like this, I gotta say, Bones…" Leaning over closer to her, Brennan could see the gleam in his eyes she now recognized as his flirting mode. "I am not opposed to shutting the blinds and locking the door and christening your couch here." He patted the cushion and waggled his eyebrows.

"Booth!" Brennan jumped up and moved closer to her desk. "We are not having sex in my office!"

Laughing lightly, Booth stood and moved to the door. "I know, Bones. But I figured it was worth a try. I have to get to the Hoover to pick up some more paperwork, but I'll be back in an hour or so. You want more coffee from that organic shop?"

She followed him to the door and looked around the area outside. Seeing no one, she quickly pecked him on the lips. "Thank you." She straightened his tie and smiled saucily. "You know, if there's a night when we're here late, and no one else is around…"

"Temperance Brennan, you are a tease." Booth kissed her again, not bothering to check for an audience. "But luckily I already knew that about you." He brushed one hand down her arm softly. "I love you. Back in a few."

"Love you too. Bye." She watched as he sauntered out of the lab, frowning slightly as she detected a slight limp in his walk. Making a mental note to pick up some orange tree oil and Epsom salts from the health food store, she headed back into her office and back to work.

* * *

><p><em>11:19 AM - George Washington University Hospital<em>

"Well, Camille…while everything is looking good, I would have expected to see you progressing a little more by now." The obstetrician, Dr. Hanson, stood at the nearby sink washing his hands. He turned and glanced at Paul. "You're only two and a half centimeters, and I thought we would see at least five at this point."

Cam looked between the two colleagues, who were somehow having a conversation without saying a single word. "Hello? Woman in labor here…can someone tell me why you're both looking like that?"

Paul took her hand and squeezed. "I'm sorry, Cam. It's just…we didn't want to worry you until it was completely necessary. You've been in labor for nine hours, give or take. You're having regular contractions, but they're not getting closer together fast enough and you're not dilating like we'd like."

"You're both worried about a c-section." She pulled her hand out of Paul's and plucked at the warm blanket in her lap. After a moment, she sighed in resignation. "What do we have to do to avoid that, if we can?"

Dr. Hanson sat on the edge of her bed and patted her leg. "I'm going to break your water, see if that doesn't get things moving. Alright? Simple fixes are sometimes the best. But you know, it might really push things along really fast, too. I want you to be prepared for that."

"Hey, the faster this gets moving, the faster we get to meet him. I'm all for that." Cam agreed.

"Still sure it's a boy, Cam?" Dr. Hanson grinned at Paul, who was shaking his head. "And Paul thinks girl."

"Of course. And since I am right, Macon will be making his appearance tonight."

Hanson nodded. "Macon. That's a nice, strong name. Family name?"

Paul shook his head. "No, Cam's favorite novel is Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison, and the protagonist is named Macon."

"I like it. What about if it's a girl?"

Paul grinned. "Harper. After my favorite novel's author."

"Ah, To Kill a Mockingbird. Harper is a much better choice than Scout." Hanson stood and moved to the other side of the room again. "In any case, we need to get Macon or Harper moving along here, so what do you say we break your water and see how you do?"

Cam glanced at Paul and gripped his hand tightly. "I'm ready."

* * *

><p><em>12:05 PM - Java Green Coffee Shop<em>

Booth tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the barista to make Brennan's favorite organic latte. He scanned the muffins and cookies in the display case, trying to decide if her secret sweet tooth would be in the mood for something chocolate-laden, finally landing on an almond croissant and adding it to his order. He reached up to grab the coffee and croissant, absently snagging the napkin the barista had placed under the cup. As he turned to walk out, something on the small square of paper caught his eye and he realized that the pretty young woman behind the counter had given him her phone number. With a slightly cocky grin and a laugh, he crumpled up the napkin and threw it in the trash on the way out the door.

Getting into his SUV, Booth was mildly irritated to realize that his phone was buzzing, and Rebecca's name was coming up on the caller ID. Flipping open the phone, he settled Brennan's coffee in the cup holder and threw the bag on the passenger seat.

"Becks. What's up?"

* * *

><p><em>12:40 - Jeffersonian Institute Medico-Legal Lab<em>

Dr. Jack Hodgins stood quietly at the doorway of his wife's office and watched as she continued to organize her desk to its original order. He was, deep down, thrilled that she had changed her mind about quitting the lab. Truth be told, while he had been more than supportive in her choice to leave, seeing her stack her sketchpads in a neat pile and collect her pencils in a nearby cup settled his heart and mind like nothing else. He knew that, despite her earlier disquiet, that Angela belonged here, a working and essential piece in their little family.

"Hey babe." He stepped into the room and moved to lean against the desk she was still organizing.

Angela's mouth turned up softly, giving her husband the smile she saved just for him. "Hey. I'm just finishing up here. Did you want to go get some lunch?"

"Sure. Should we grab everyone and go together?"

"Nope." Angela bent down and grabbed her pocketbook, then walked around the desk to hook her arm through Jack's. "I feel the need for some time alone. Just you and me."

Hodgins grinned and leaned over to kiss her. "As always."

B&B

Booth rapped on the doorjamb as he entered Brennan's office. "Hey Bones. Ready for lunch?"

Brennan continued typing at her computer, head bobbing slightly, not even acknowledging Booth's question. He stepped a few paces closer, finally seeing the ear bud wires that were trailing down her shoulders and into her iPod next to her on the desk. With a devious grin, he moved out of her line of sight and settled behind her, glancing down to see what song was playing before leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on her neck.

"Booth, I knew you were there." Brennan barely moved her head, reaching down to pause her music. "Some sniper you are."

Snorting a laugh, Booth pulled the buds out of her ears. "Hey, I wasn't trying all that hard. If I had brought all my skills to bear, I'd have you thrown over my shoulder and halfway to the platform before you even noticed you'd moved."

"And I believe you, Booth." Fighting an eye roll, Brennan shut down her laptop and pulled her bag out of the bottom drawer of her desk. "Now let's go to Mama's, I'm starving."

"Yes, ma'am." Booth helped her with her jacket and they headed for the doors. "Oh, before I forget, Rebecca called. She's stuck at work and Parker has a half day of school, so I have to go get him at 2:00."

"What are you going to do with him?" She asked as they exited the museum. "Can you take half a day off work?"

Booth shook his head and unlocked the car door. "I wish I could, but I have to meet with Caroline sometime today, and it can't wait. Plus, we still have about two hours of paperwork to finish." He walked around the car, and got in beside her. "I was wondering…"

Sighing, Brennan smiled. "Of course he can hang out in the lab, Booth. Angela has all kinds of paints and pencils to keep him occupied."

"Cool. Just make sure Ang knows no face paint. I still haven't heard the end of that one from Becks."

"I shall endeavor to make sure I set down the ground rules for the proper care and feeding of your son."

Booth glanced at Brennan out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not sure how I feel about this new smart mouth you've been showing off."

Brennan squared her shoulders proudly. "You should be proud; I learned it from listening to you for almost seven years."

Booth spun the wheel as he turned into the parking lot at Mama's. "Yeah, I shoulda known that was going to come back to bite me in the ass one day." He grumbled to her delighted laughter.

* * *

><p><em>1:55 PM - George Washington University Hospital<em>

Cam and Paul sat nervously watching the doctor as he checked her progress. When he looked up and shook his head, Cam let her head drop back onto the pillow with a whimper. "Damn."

"I'm sorry, Camille. You should have at least progressed a centimeter when I broke your water. That was two hours ago and you haven't progressed a bit. And the baby's heartbeat has slowed just enough to make me worry a little."

Paul wrapped his arm around her and nodded. "It's fine, I was expecting this." He addressed his girlfriend. "Cam, you know the choices. We can wait and you can suffer through more contractions that, frankly, aren't getting you anywhere and are just stressing the baby. Or…"

"I can have the cesarean. I know." She sat up and placed both hands on her protruding belly, lightly rubbing. "You are going to be stubborn, like your mom, huh?" Looking into Paul's eyes, seeing the worry in them, she made her decision.

"Alright, let's get this kid out of here. I'm ready to meet him."

* * *

><p><em>2:15 - Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab<em>

"Bones!"

Brennan turned when her name was called, barely able to brace herself before she was hit with 85 pounds of flying Parker Booth.

"Parker! Take it easy, buddy. Bones isn't as tough as Dad." Booth called as he jogged to catch up with his son and girlfriend in the middle of the lab.

"He's fine, Booth." Brennan looked down affectionately at the boy in her arms. "But pretty soon he's going to be as big as his dad and then I'll be in trouble."

"I'll be careful, Bones." He looked around. "Can I go hang out with Angela now?"

Booth laughed and playfully flicked his son's ear. "Makes you feel wanted, doesn't he, Bones?"

"It's fine, Booth." Addressing Parker, Brennan pointed towards Angela's office. "She's waiting for you, Parker. Go ahead."

They both watched, amused, as the boy tore off towards the artist's domain, almost passing the doorway in his haste, closely resembling a cartoon character as he skidded to a stop. They heard Angela's "Hey, Baby Booth!" and smiled at each other before heading into Brennan's office.

"I have some work to do if you want to head back to the Hoover, Booth. I can keep an eye on Parker while you're gone." She took her seat behind the desk and wiggled her mouse to wake up her desktop.

"Nah, everything I have to do has been done. I'm just waiting for Caroline to call and let me know what's going on with that case we have going to court next week, and Becks is supposed to call when she's on her way home so I can drop Parker off." He sat on the sofa and kicked back. "Besides, I don't have a couch in my office." His ringing phone distracted him for a moment.

"Hey, Paul. How's Cam?" Brennan watched as a worried look crossed his face. "Yeah? But everything is okay, right?" He paused again, eyes catching Brennan's. "Alright, man. Let her know we're thinking about her." He listened again. "Thanks for calling, Paul. Good luck." He hung up and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Is everything alright with Cam?" Brennan finally asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, Bones. She's just…not moving along like they want, so they're doing a c-section."

Nodding, Brennan sighed. "I know that is not what Cam wanted, but she is in good hands. They'll be just fine, Booth."

"I know. It's just unexpected, you know?"

"Yes. But she'll be fine."

Booth smiled. "And what is your evidence, Dr. Brennan?"

"I suppose…I am using my gut." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't care for it."

Booth leaned back again on the sofa, smug. "But I love that you're doing it anyway."

Brennan raised an eyebrow and stood to open her file cabinet, shaking her head. "Booth, go find something to do that isn't distracting or annoying me. Go have a chat with Hodgins about one of your sporting events. You enjoy that. And give everyone the update on Cam."

"You don't want me around?" He tried to affect a convincing pout, but he knew when he was beat. This wasn't the first time she had sent him off to find something to do when she was working, although sometimes it made him feel like her kid instead of her boyfriend. "Alright, alright…I'll go." He stood and straightened his tie unnecessarily. "But don't come crying to me when you need some entertainment and I'm too busy rubbing the fact that my Phillies are wiping the floor with the Nationals in Hodgins' face."

"I'll do my best to restrain myself." Brennan replied dryly.

Booth, against his better judgment but keenly aware of the tightrope he was walking with Brennan, wandered across the lab and into Hodgins' office to talk with him. He knew his reticence was justified when as he walked in, he noticed a brightly-colored lizard sitting on the scientist's shoulder.

"Hodgins, what the hell is that thing sitting on you?"

Jack turned around and grinned, absently patting his slimy friend. "Hey Booth. Relax, it's a red headed agama. Completely harmless."

Booth hid a shudder. "That doesn't explain why you're wearing it."

"Oh, she's not integrating well with the other lizards, salamanders and iguanas. I'm trying to decide whether to separate her in her own case or just put her in there with the others and see what kind of trouble she causes."

Booth leaned forward a little and inspected the lizard closely. "Nice coloring, though. Almost pretty." He cleared his throat at Hodgins' smirk and continued. "But in my experience, redheads are almost always a pain in the ass so you shouldn't be surprised."

"Tell me about it…" Jack threw caution to the wind and put the lizard into the terrarium with the others, closing the lid tightly. He didn't want a repeat of the Great Bearded Dragon Escape of 2009 on his hands. Cam still glared at him for that one, from time to time. He sat back in his chair and grinned nostalgically. "There was this chick in college…Betsy. Classic psycho chick and the brightest red hair you've ever seen."

"Yeah?" Booth settled onto one of the stools closest to Jack's desk. "How psycho? Leave you weird notes in your underwear drawer crazy, or bunny boiling all-out nuts?"

"Oh, no. Nothing that pedestrian. Betsy was a psychosis unto herself. We had a great time together, but man…when she was unhappy, she made it known in the oddest ways." Hodgins pointed at the large fish tank at the opposite end of his office. "See that tank?" Booth nodded. "I had a small one just like it in my apartment. About two months after I started seeing Betsy, I noticed that some of the fish were disappearing."

Booth laughed. "She was stealing your fish, man? You're right, that's odd."

"Oh no, G-Man. I wish she had just been stealing them."

"She was…flushing them?"

Hodgins leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "Oh no. Not Betsy. That would have been too easy. No, she was truly out where the buses don't run. We had a huge fight one morning before I left for class, and I was going to be late, so we agreed to meet back at my place and talk later. I get back, and I guess she was preoccupied, because she never heard me come in. I walk into the living room, and…" He snickered, shaking his head.

"What?" Booth leaned forward, caught up in the story. "What was she doing?"

"She was systematically swallowing my exotic fish live. One at a time."

Booth's eyes widened, a shocked laugh escaping him. "Seriously? She was _eating your pet fish_?"

"I know, right?" Jack shook his head. "Needless to say, we never did resolve that fight. I got as far away from her as I possibly could."

"Yeah, I don't blame you. The worst thing a chick ever did to me was cut up my ties."

"You got off easy. I met a woman in the psych ward who set my bunk on fire because I passed too closely to her in the hallway."

Both men turned around to see Fisher and the other two interns standing in the doorway. Wendell and Arastoo took a step back from Fisher, staring warily.

Hodgins looked at Booth, an eyebrow raised in question. "I'm guessing the guy who was living with actual, documented psychos might win this argument."

Booth stood, smoothing his tie unconsciously. "Yeah. And he's welcome to it." His phone rang, and seeing that it was Rebecca, he patted Hodgins on the shoulder and nodded at the interns as he passed. "Gentlemen."

They all watched as Booth answered his phone as he sauntered down the hallway, headed for Angela's office.

Wendell took Booth's vacated seat and shook his head. "I honestly can't think of a really crazy chick I might have dated."

"Oh, come on Wendell. We all have at least one woman in our pasts that we just look back on and say, 'What the hell was I thinking?' Even you, man."

Wendell looked uncomfortable. "Well, when you put it that way…"

Hodgins picked up on his friend's reticence and the reason behind it and smiled. "Okay, so you've always made good choices in women. We can let you slide on this one, Wendell."

Arastoo nodded sagely, also not missing the subtext. Changing the direction of the conversation, he scratched the side of his face absently. "I have to admit, there was a woman I dated…for a short time. But…"

"But what?"

"Well…you might know her." He raised his hands in a classic defensive pose. "But it was before she started dating Dr. Sweets!"

"Daisy?" Wendell and Hodgins said the name together, wearing matching shocked expressions.

"Hey, like I said…it was even before she started interning for Dr. Brennan!"

Hodgins grinned. "Were you the guy she dumped for Sweets?"

"No. Absolutely not." Arastoo shook his head determinedly. "We only dated for a few weeks. Daisy is…very enthusiastic. She was a little much for me."

"Couldn't handle her, huh?" Wendell smirked.

"Daisy is a little jumpy, but she isn't crazy. Believe me, I know crazy." Fisher interjected. "And you aren't the only one here that dated Daisy."

Hodgins started full-out laughing. "You too? Oh boy, it's a good thing Sweets didn't know any of this."

Arastoo leaned into Fisher, whispering. "Did she ever ask you to…you know, have sex in odd places?"

"Oh yeah, her favorite was coat check rooms in nice restaurants and clubs." Fisher's expression never changed. "We almost got arrested one night; she makes a lot of noise."

"Tell me about it." Arastoo shook his head.

Hodgins stood and held his hands out. "Okay, that's enough! Aside from the fact that I have no desire to know about Daisy Wick's sex life…it's disrespectful. Talking about the crazy things women have done to us in the past is okay; gossiping about a former co-worker is not. Let's move on, gentlemen."

Fisher and Arastoo shrugged, both agreeing. But Wendell leaned into them, hand over his mouth. "We're talking about this later, right?"

"Oh yeah."

"Most definitely."

* * *

><p>Angela watched, amused, as Parker put the finishing touches on his painting, a rendering of what Washington DC would look like immediately after the onset of the zombie apocalypse. "Wow, Parker. That's…"<p>

"Gross?" His eyes were hopeful.

"Oh yeah. Definitely disgusting."

"Awesome." Parker nodded in satisfaction and put his paintbrush down on the easel's tray. "Thanks, Angela. This is so cool."

"Anytime, Parker. Really. Now here, let me get your picture hung up over here so it can dry. It'll take a few hours and I know you have to leave soon, but I'll give it to your dad when it's ready." She looked around the room. "Is there anything else you wanted to do to kill the last half hour?"

Pointing to the Angelatron, Parker grinned shyly. "Can you watch movies on that big TV?"

"Of course. In fact…" She rooted around her desk for a moment, crowing in triumph when she found what she was looking for. "How about some Transformers?"

"Cool!" Parker ran over to the table along Angela's office wall and jumped up to sit. "We watched this with Bones last weekend. Me and dad liked it, Bones said it was im…imploss…"

"Implausible?" Angela chuckled. "Sounds like Brennan." Inserting the disc in the drive on the side of the Angelatron, a thought occurred to her. "Does Dr. Brennan come over a lot when you're at your dad's?"

"Sure, we hang out all the time. Last time we went to the aquarium on Saturday and then on Sunday Bones made us an awesome lunch while we were at church."

Suddenly intensely curious about her best friend's weekend activities, Angela decided to probe further, ignoring the slight pang of guilt she felt about essentially interrogating an eleven year old. "Sounds like fun. It's nice of you to include Dr. Brennan."

"Bones is awesome, I don't mind and Dad gets all gooey-eyed around her and they kiss and stuff so I guess he likes her, too."

"Really, now." Angela couldn't contain her grin. "So Dr. Brennan stays with you and your dad all weekend?"

"Yeah…" Parker gave Angela a strange look. "Why? Is that bad or something?"

"Oh! No, Parker…not at all. That's very good." She ruffled his hair. "I'm glad your dad and Dr. Brennan have each other. And I'm really glad you like her."

Looking slightly mollified, Parker nodded. "Yeah, like I said, Bones is cool."

Angela turned and looked towards the platform, where Brennan was talking with the head of Egyptology and smiled predatorily. "Yes…yes, she is."

* * *

><p><em>3:30 PM -<em> _George Washington University Hospital_

Cam lay on the flat table in the operating suite with her arms stretched out to her sides, IV snaking out of her. Paul perched himself next to her head and ran his hand up and down the side of her face, holding her eyes with his.

"Can you believe that in just a few minutes, our baby will be here?" He whispered, leaning close.

Wide-eyed, Cam shook her head. "No. I-" She swallowed. "I don't know if I can do this, Paul."

"You can." At her head shake, he nodded. "You can, Camille. You are the strongest woman I have ever met and you are going to be an amazing mother." He leaned forward and kissed her softly. "We are going to be amazing parents."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah." He glanced up at his colleagues and nodded. "We're ready."

Dr. Hanson smiled and peeked over the surgical sheet separating Cam from her view of the rest of her body. "Are you ready to meet your baby, Cam?"

Cam nodded tightly and closed her eyes, feeling Paul's hand in hers. The anesthesiologist, who had introduced herself as Stephanie, leaned over to Cam's left and softly gave her instructions.

"Now, I need you to relax. Take deep, cleansing breaths just like you would have during active labor. Dr. Hanson is making the incision, and you shouldn't feel anything but some pressure." She paused, looking over to where the doctors were working. "Do you feel anything, Camille?"

Cam shook her head, eyes still closed tight. "No."

"Alright." Stephanie's voice was calm and low and Cam chanced a look at her, getting an encouraging smile in return. "You're doing great. Dr. Hanson is making the Pfannenstiehl incision through the skin, and starting cut to reach the fascia." Cam nodded again, soothed by the technical explanation of the procedure and the cadence of being walked through each step as it happened. She noticed that Paul was still holding her hand, but he was now standing and watching everything as it occurred.

"Is everything okay?" She asked tentatively.

Paul winked. "Perfect. Just relax; he's starting on the fascia now."

Stephanie continued to walk Cam through her birth, reminding her to breathe deeply and gently encouraging her to remember every moment of this amazing experience. "He is through the peritoneum and I can see the womb." She smiled down at Cam. "Not long now, Mom."

Sniffling slightly, Cam gave her a watery smile.

"Alright, he's made the incision in your womb, and I see some very dark hair there." Stephanie's voice rose in excitement. "Okay, suctioning out the nose and mouth and…there. Clamping off the cord. Here we go…"

Paul gasped as his son was pulled into the world, kicking and fighting. He clutched Cam's hand tightly and shook his head. "My God. I…" He tore his eyes away. "Camille, we have a boy. He's perfect."

Cam released a sob and instinctively tried to sit up. Stephanie touched her shoulder and gently pushed her back. "Just hang on, Mom. Let us clean him off and he's yours."

She saw the nurse walk by with a flash of pink flesh and white towel and tried desperately to see her baby. Paul leaned down and kissed her lips, whispering 'Thank you' before resting his head against hers. "Go. Go see him and bring him to me." Her eyes were wide and pleading and Paul moved immediately to do her bidding.

Stephanie patted her hand. "You did great, Camille. Congratulations."

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Cam whispered. She stared into Stephanie's eyes for a moment, an understanding and kinship passing between them that women had been sharing for millennia, when the anesthesiologist's eyes were diverted across the room.

"I think that someone wants to meet you." She tipped her head forward, and Cam turned in time to watch as Paul carefully carried a tightly-wrapped bundle over to her.

Cam's breath hitched as the face she had been dreaming about for the last seven months was suddenly in front of her, looking into her eyes with a calm that belied the cries he had been making just a few minutes earlier. "Ohhh." She breathed. "Hello, Macon. You are so beautiful. Isn't he beautiful, Paul? Oh, I…I never imagined…"

Paul watched, sheen of tears in his eyes, as Cam gently nuzzled her son, a warm wave of love and affection washing over him so strongly that it almost knocked him off his feet. "It's breathtaking." He agreed, but whether he meant their son or the woman who had given him this gift, he couldn't really be sure.

After a moment, the pediatric nurse came over and gently explained that they needed to take Apgar scores, weight and measurements and foot imprints. Cam nodded and kissed the baby's soft cheek before Paul relinquished the tiny bundle to the nurse. He sat back down next to Cam and gently wiped a tear away that had run from her eye into her hair. They didn't speak again, content in the fact that their baby was here, he was healthy, and they were finally a complete family.

* * *

><p><em>4:45 PM - Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab<em>

Brennan smiled down at Booth as he took the steps up to the lounge. He was weighed down by several bags of Chinese food that he had stopped to pick up on the way back from dropping Parker at home. As he reached the top step, Booth's return smile got even bigger. "Hey, I just heard from Paul, everyone." He addressed the gathering. "At 3:42 PM, Macon Atticus Lidner was born. 7 pounds, 14 ounces. Everyone is just perfect. Mom, dad, baby and big sister are all doing well."

Everyone cheered, and Brennan took a few of the food bags from Booth as she grinned. "I find it very hard to picture Cam with a baby." She led Booth over to the long table where their team sat, talking animatedly about baby gifts and visiting hours at the hospital. "But I cannot help but be happy for her. She will be a wonderful mother." Only Booth caught the wistful expression on her face as she turned to hand Angela her order and a pair of chopsticks.

"Yeah, Cam's gonna be great." Booth agreed, filing away Brennan's reaction to reflect on at a later date.

Hodgins leaned back into the sofa where he and Angela sat, eating an egg roll. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, just enjoying the brief moment of peace and fellowship that surrounded them and their friends. Angela patted his knee and leaned to whisper in his ear.

"I'm glad you're relaxing and taking a break. You've been too wrapped up in the Creeps case lately." She kissed his cheek. "It's nice to have you back."

"Hey, everyone needs to take a step back once in awhile." Jack agreed, the fleeting thought of a computer in his lab running yet another scenario he'd come up with earlier pushed to the back of his mind guiltily. "This is nice."

Intently watching Booth and Brennan's interactions for a clue, Angela nodded. "It really is. We should do this more often."

For her part, Brennan knew that Angela was staring at her, and she suspected why. Ever since Parker had left with Booth, her friend had been hinting around about the partners' relationship and while Brennan generally missed most obvious social cues, Angela was nothing if not blatant. Leaning into Booth, she whispered a question that had his eyebrows rising almost to his hairline.

"Really?" He swallowed slowly. "Are you sure? Because I know that we agreed to keep it quiet, but I'm okay with everyone-"

"Angela already knows." Brennan said, loudly enough for everyone to hear her. The interns stopped their intense conversation mid-sentence and Angela held back a snicker.

Hodgins sat up, interest peaked. "What, exactly, does Angela know?"

For her part, Angela acted nonchalant. "Oh, nothing. It's just a guess, really."

Booth sighed and waved at her with his chopsticks. "Go ahead, you can say it."

"Well…" She sat up and placed her hands on her knees as if she was going to tell everyone a story. "It seems as though Dr. Brennan here has been spending her weekends with a certain FBI agent and his son."

"So?" Jack shook his head. "They always hang out together." He glanced at Booth, noting with surprise the slight flush to his cheeks.

"Yes, but do they sleep in the same room and kiss?" Angela added smugly.

"Angela!" Brennan gasped. "Were you grilling Parker?"

Booth looked irritated. "You interrogated my son?"

"No!" Chagrined, she rushed to explain. "Well, he offered the information…I just, nudged him along a little bit."

"Ang…" Jack sighed. "Really?"

"I'm serious! Parker told me that Brennan spent the whole weekend with them! I didn't ask. I promise." Angela was starting to look upset, making Booth feel guilty.

"Think we should let her off the hook?" He asked Brennan, who was fighting a grin.

"I don't know. That was rather intrusive." She glanced at Angela, who was slowly catching on. "Maybe we should let her hang for just a little while longer."

At Wendell's snicker, Angela stood up, incensed. "You guys! Quit messing with me! You are together and you didn't tell us? You didn't tell _me_? Temperance Brennan, I thought we were _friends_! Best friends!" She began to pace between where Hodgins sat, grinning madly, on the sofa and where Booth and Brennan were barely containing their laughter. "This might be unforgiveable!"

"Oh come on, Angela. They probably just wanted some time to get used to the whole thing without everyone examining them like bugs under a microscope." Hodgins soothed. "Give them a break." To Booth and Brennan he said, "I, for one, am happy for you guys."

"Thank you, Jack." Brennan said. "We appreciate that."

"Yeah, thanks Hodgins." Booth wrapped his arm around Brennan and kissed her temple, effectively taking the raging wind out of Angela's sails.

The artist took a moment to really look at her friends and sighed dramatically. "Alright, fine." She moved to pull Brennan into a heartfelt embrace. "I really am thrilled for both of you. Truly."

"I know, Angela." Brennan pulled back from the hug. "And I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner. But Hodgins is correct; we just wanted it to be between us for a little bit."

After hugging Booth, Angela smiled widely and nodded as she sat back down next to her husband, laughing a little when Fisher patted Booth on the shoulder, causing the older man to jump away. "It's okay, sweetie. Really." Picking up her discarded food, she shook her head. "And hey, it's not like everyone else knew first, right? I mean, if you had told…like, Sweets first…now that would be unforgiveable."

Brennan and Booth exchanged a look, eyes wide. "Uh, yeah. That would be bad." Booth agreed shakily.

Brennan could only nod.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us next week when a young woman who appears to have had a fairy tale life is brutally murdered, causing the team to question if anyone actually lives happily ever after. Don't miss The Fairest in the Land by Squinttoyou and Brainysmrfs.<strong>_


	11. The Fairest in the Land

6.5x11 The Fairest in the Land - Written by Squinttoyou and Brainysmrfs

"All I'm saying is that the first thing I'm gonna do when I get out is go down to the Iron Gate and get me the biggest, fattest Porterhouse and a single malt. What about you?" John Hershey asked his cellmate as they walked along the cross-country trail in Draper Park, picking up trash as part of a prison work detail.

Anthony paused and looked down at his feet before responding, "Hell, I don't know…Get my girl naked and keep her that way for a week."

Hershey laughed as he continued down the path, "Sounds like a plan to me."

"How far are we supposed to go?" Anthony asked as he turned around and saw that the rest of the work detail was a good distance behind them.

"I don't know, just keep going until they tell us to…" Hershey paused as he noticed something oddly shaped pinned underneath a fallen tree. He stepped off the path to get a closer look, "What the hell? Tony, get over here!"

Anthony walked over and took a double take, "Is that what I think it is?"

Taking the tip of the stick he had been using to pick up litter, Hershey rolled the dead wood over. The two men stared at what was revealed, unsure of what to say until Hershey looked over at Anthony and asked, "You think we'll get time knocked off our sentences for finding a dead body?"

B&B

"You know, Bones, we gave Cam a baby gift at the shower," Booth said lightly as he eyed the gift bag dangling from her hand.

The anthropologist's eyes dipped to the present and she shrugged with one shoulder. "I saw this yesterday and found it very humorous. I thought Cam would enjoy it." She followed him up the steps to stand at Cam's front door, her expression now one of concern. "Am I breaking some social taboo by bringing another gift so soon?"

Booth kissed her cheek before shaking his head and then pressing the doorbell. "No, it's a very nice thing to do and I'm sure Cam will be thrilled." Brennan's smile was eager as he eased her fear. "You are looking forward to this aren't you?" he teased as they waited for a response to his ring.

"I am. Cam is a friend and it is our duty to show our support and affection by acknowledging her offspring."

"And you like holding him," Booth added remembering how Brennan had cooed over Macon at the hospital.

"You do too," she retorted unable to deny his accusation.

"Yeah, he's a cutie," Booth admitted. "It seems like forever since Parker was that size. And babies smell nicer than ten-year-olds."

"That is undeniable," Brennan quickly agreed. The door opened and she turned with anticipation.

"Hi!" Cam called, sounding very pleased to see them. She pushed the door wide in silent invitation and smiled brightly as Booth stepped into the doorway and wrapped her in a hug. "Great to see you guys!" she gushed still holding him tight. She gave a slight cough to hide her surprise when Booth's hug was followed by one from Brennan. "Brennan, how's my lab?" she asked unable to stall the question.

"Everything is fine." Brennan's assurance was given with a look of stern sincerity but a smile tugged at her lips as she held out the gift. "I even had time to go shopping yesterday. I saw this and thought you might enjoy it."

"Another gift?" Cam said raising an eyebrow at Booth as she turned to lead them into her home. "I'm flattered, Dr. Brennan."

"Yeah, yeah, Bones is very thoughtful," Booth teased as the partners trailed behind the recovering mother. "Where's Macon? He and his Uncle Seeley need to do some bonding!"

Cam chuckled. "He's just waking from a nap." She had pulled the onesie from the bag as they walked and her chuckle turned into a laugh. "Oh, Brennan, this is great! Thank you." She held up the tiny outfit which had a large recycling symbol on the chest and the words 'Made from Recycled Genetic Material' underneath. "Paul will actually crack up at this."

"I'm pleased you like it," Brennan answered. "Could we see the baby now?"

Cam pointed to the bassinet at the end of the couch as she gingerly lowered herself back down on the cushion. She smiled as she watched the partners silently argue about who could have the first opportunity to hold Macon and then smirked knowingly when Booth backed off and let Brennan win. "So, what's new?" she asked innocently.

"The lab is operating at maximum efficiency," Brennan reported her attention fixed firmly on the baby now cradled in her arms.

Booth took a seat next to his partner and leaned against her shoulder to get a good look at the baby. "It's actually been fairly quiet," he added. "You aren't missing much except for Bones' spring cleaning."

"What cleaning?"

Brennan lifted her eyes to her boss when she heard the concern in the question. "The interns have been assigned various duties. There are a number of projects I have been meaning to get done and this seemed an apropos time to accomplish them. The additional tasks give them extra hours in the lab and allow for advanced opportunities to conduct work on their theses. For example, Mr. Bray cataloged the bones in your paleopathology consultation project."

Cam blinked through her shock. "Thank you, Brennan. That's actually very helpful, I'd fallen behind on that project and left it in some disarray given my surprise labor. Using the interns for those kinds of projects is actually a very good idea."

"Of course it is," Brennan agreed as her attention returned to Macon.

Cam watched silently as Booth moved even closer to his partner. His arm slid around her back and he leaned against her as he offered a finger to the baby. Macon grasped tightly, his small fingers clamping around Booth's trigger finger in an instinctual grasp. There was no space between them now and Brennan rested Macon on their legs her right and his left making a safe platform on which he could lay. "So, the lab is good," she prompted slyly. "What else is new?"

"I don't know," Booth said, still watching with delight as Macon examined his finger. "Not much I guess. What's new with you?" He did look to her then and he flashed a mild but charming smile. "You're the new mother. How are you?"

"I'm better than I ever imagined I could be," Cam admitted with a rueful chuckle. "I just never knew it could be so…" Macon made a tiny grunt and her eyes moved to him quickly to make certain all was well before looking back at her friend. "I never knew it would be so wonderful," she finished.

"Best feeling ever, isn't it?" Booth asked with complete understanding.

"It really is." She laughed at herself. "I can't explain how lucky I am to have stumbled into it."

"Are you healing well, Cam?" Brennan asked.

She nodded clinically. "I'm doing well." Her mouth opened to say more and then she paused. Silently she berated herself for letting them distract her with talk of her recovery. That wasn't what she wanted to talk about. "Enough about me," she objected instead. "Tell me what's going on with…everyone."

They missed the hint.

"I've been contacted by the University of Tennessee with a request for access to the Terry Collection," Brennan reported. "I'm inclined to allow them access as it will benefit their body farm research."

"Wendell and I picked up a new goalie on our hockey team," Booth added.

"Really?" Cam gushed as if an academic request to the museum and developments in the men's open-age hockey league were fascinating topics.

"What?" Booth asked.

Cam cocked her head and waited but when he didn't say more she rolled her eyes. "Really? That's all you've got?"

Booth glanced at Brennan. "We really wanted to know what's up here," he said diplomatically.

"What's up here is if you weren't holding my son I'd smack your heads together!"

"Whoa!" Booth muttered, "Forgot about the postpartum mood swings."

"Are you experiencing emotional instability?" Brennan asked Cam.

"I'm experiencing impatience!"

"Why?"

"Give me the baby!" Cam said in irritation as she struggled to her feet. It took her only an instant and they sat stunned as she snatched Macon from their grasp. Once she held him, she turned and smacked Booth in the head.

"Ow!" he yelled as he flinched.

Brennan raised an eyebrow but Cam knew better than to offer her the same treatment. She glared at Booth instead. "Really? Really, Seeley? Nothing's new? You don't have anything to share? You just came over to see the baby and you can't think of anything I might have missed lately?"

"Well…" he stammered knowing he had misplayed this but unsure how to save himself. "Camille…"

"Don't call me Camille," she snapped automatically. "You two inflict years of tension and insanely frustrating idiocy on me and then, when you finally do what you should have done years ago, you can't bother to tell me about it!" She looked down at the baby in her arms. "Can you believe them?" she asked him.

"How did you know?" Brennan asked curiously.

"Angela's been here," Cam answered dryly.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

Booth chuckled. "We didn't want to steal your thunder," he admitted. "I was gonna tell you, but we wanted today to be about the little guy."

Cam softened. "He's wonderful," she agreed with a gentleness she couldn't withhold. But the moment passed quickly and she shook her head. "But this is huge! I missed the biggest thing that's happened in the lab in years! I'm so jealous that I wasn't there when you told everyone." She held Macon to her breast and settled back in her seat. "So, the visit is appreciated and the attention to my son is wonderful, but what I really want is every detail about you two. So spill it. Tell me all about it."

Booth looked to Brennan and she nodded. He smiled and turned to his friend happy to share the best news of his life. He opened his mouth to begin the tale and his phone rang.

Cam sat stunned to silence as she watched the one scenario play out that she knew would rob her of her story hour. He took the call and then signaled his partner. "Sorry, Cam, gotta go. Let's move, Bones; body waiting."

"But!" she called. They didn't slow their walk to the door and she sighed. "I expect you back next week and I want details!" she yelled just before her front door slammed shut.

B&B

"Ok, I'm finished," Angela announced as she returned to the platform. She held up the quick sketch she had drawn. "She was gorgeous."

Brennan looked up from the body and studied it carefully paying more attention to how the features conformed to the skull on her exam table than standards of beauty. "Very good, Ang."

"Why does she look so sad?" Fisher asked. "Not that I object, I prefer it in my women actually, but you don't usually make them so morose."

"They found her just lying in the woods," Angela said giving the body a look of sympathy.

"That sort of discovery is fairly common in our cases, Ange," Brennan noted from her position at the table.

"Yeah, I guess. It just feels sad to me."

Brennan lifted her eyes to her friend. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, just melodramatic," Angela promised.

Brennan looked down at the body on the table. "It is sad," she agreed softly.

Angela smiled and gave her friend a one-armed hug. "I love the new you."

"She was pretty hot," Fisher mumbled as he continued to stare at the sad face in Angela's sketch.

Both Angela and Brennan opened their mouths to chastise him but were interrupted by Brennan's ringing phone. "Brennan," she said as she put the setting on speaker and placed it on the table so she could remove her gloves.

"It's Turner, I have a possible match for you from the missing person's database. Ivory Reed, age twenty-seven. I'm sending you the fact sheet now, but she fits the general parameters you gave us for physical characteristics and time of death." Angela moved to a nearby computer and logged in to retrieve the information as Turner continued to speak. "Miss Reed was last seen at her bon voyage party December thirteenth and reported missing a day later by her fiancé."

Angela opened the file the young agent had transferred and sighed. The face on the computer screen was a near exact match to the sketch in her hand. "At least she looks happy," the artist noted.

Brennan took only a moment to study the beautiful face and nodded. "Claudia, I'll have Mr. Fisher confirm with dentals, but I'm confident in stating Miss Reed is our victim."

"Ok, I'll let the boss know," Turner answered.

"Please let him know we are beginning a more complete exam of the remains in hope of determining cause of death," Brennan stated clinically. "I'll contact him when I have something to report."

"Got it. Happy hunting," the agent said she hung up.

"I think I like Angela's picture better," Fisher announced. His face showed disappointment as Angela hastily snatched it up holding it against her chest with the drawing turned away so that he could no longer leer at it. He lifted his eyes to hers and tried to make his smile ingratiating. "If you are done with that could I have it?"

* * *

><p>"You found her, didn't you?" Spencer Hannigan asked before Booth could settle in his chair.<p>

Booth stared into the eyes of the man on the opposite side of the table. The grief Spencer felt was already palpable and the agent regretted the words he had to say. "Yes. Ivory Reed's body was discovered in Draper Park. I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Hannigan."

The young man nodded silently as tears ran slowly down his cheeks. He leaned back in his seat and stared at the ceiling trying to regain some control.

Sweets and Booth both lowered their gaze, giving him a moment of privacy to process the news. After a moment, Sweets spoke with trained sympathy, "Mr. Hannigan, there are a few questions we have to ask."

"Yeah," he answered struggling to sit up and focus on the interview, "Of course." His hand shook as he wiped away his tears and he took a shuddering breath. "I knew this was likely the way it would turn out," he said his voice weak but resigned. "But still, I had hope. You know?"

He looked to Booth, drawn to the big man's understanding expression and peaceful presence. Booth nodded and Spencer took another deep breath. "What do you need to know?"

"Can you recap for us the events that lead to you reporting Ivory missing?" Booth asked.

"She…uh, she threw a party." He laughed gently. "She loved a good party. We were running away together," he added with a sad smile. "She was going to join me in London and we were going to Paris for a quick ceremony and then…happily ever after…"

"So it was a bon voyage party?" Sweets prompted as Spencer faltered.

"Yeah." He shook himself and again tried to focus this time with more success. "She wanted to say goodbye to all the important people in her life. I couldn't make it. I was trying to get some things at work wrapped up so I was free for the wedding. She said it was a great party."

"You spoke to her?" Booth asked jotting down the information he had not yet heard.

"We talked about an hour after the party started. I just called to make sure she was having a good time. She said it was going great."

"And that's the last time you spoke to her?"

He nodded as new tears welled in his eyes. "She was supposed to call me afterward, but she was also supposed to stop by her dad's place and say goodbye. When she didn't call I figured she got caught up in that farewell and we just missed each other. When I couldn't reach her the next day I knew something was wrong."

"I came home as fast as I could, but the police couldn't find anything. I tried everything, flyers, pleas through the press, a reward, but there wasn't any clue where she went."

"You established quite a large group of volunteers," Sweets praised. "I saw several news stories on their efforts to locate Ivory."

"I had to try." He reached for a thick file sitting on the table next to him and slid it closer to Booth. "This is everything I could put together about that night. The cops have been through it several times, but they didn't find anything. I'm hoping the FBI can do better."

"I have confidence in Agent Booth and his team," Sweets assured him.

"We'd like more detail about the party," Booth said as he flipped through the file. "Is there anything else you can add?"

"No, like I said, I didn't speak with her after our call early in the evening. There's only so much I can tell you when I was an ocean away. Have you spoken with Ursula?"

"That would be Ursula Reed?" Sweets asked glancing at the file Booth had given him.

"Her stepmother," Spencer answered. "She actually attended the party. They weren't very close, but Ivory tried so hard to keep the peace between them. And Ursula is the kind of woman who would have been miffed to be left off the guest list. I'm sure if you need scuttlebutt on the party she's the one to ask. She pays very close attention to that sort of thing."

There weren't many more questions to ask and after Spencer had provided everything he could tell them he left. "That was painful," Sweets said as the two men stood watching him board the elevator.

"It would hurt to be that close to happiness and have it snatched away," Booth observed.

Sweets knew they had both skirted such pain and escaped to better days. He nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

B&B

"Hey, babe." Angela leaned into Hodgins and placed a quick kiss on his bearded cheek. "How's it going?"

His arm circled her waist and he straightened from his hunched position over the victim's clothing. "Slowly," he admitted.

"Can't find anything?"

Hodgins' head bobbled. "Nothing substantive; I can say she was spoiled, in a good way."

"What do you mean?"

He nodded to the clothing on the table. "Eileen Fisher."

"Ooh, I love her winter line this year," Angela gushed.

The chuckle that escaped Hodgins was dry and warm. "I know, I saw the receipts."

"Very funny," she growled without any real bite. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

The suggestive lilt of his question made her chuckle, it wasn't a bad idea, they just didn't have time for it right now. "Bren wants a meeting. She wants to give Booth something concrete after he and Sweets meet with the family."

"Why isn't it she and Booth meeting with them?" he asked following her out of his office and across the lab.

"She's in charge of the lab," Angela reminded him.

"So? What's that supposed to mean? We can't be left alone?"

"Babe, last week you and Vincent put a block of wood and a pig's head on a barstool and shot flaming arrows at it."

"I don't understand the relevance."

"The relevance is there will be no unauthorized experiments conducted while I am in charge," Brennan interrupted. She held their victim's skull in her hands with delicate care and she nodded toward the body. "I would like to discuss our findings to date."

Hodgins sobered when he heard her tone and he quickly approached the table to discuss what they already knew.

B&B

"Mrs. Reed, thank you for coming in," Booth began.

The redhead smiled, her bleached teeth flashing behind her ruby lipstick. "Well, if I had known I could be speaking with someone as appealing as you, I would have arrived sooner."

Booth managed to conceal his reaction. "Yes, ma'am," he replied in perfect Bureau etiquette. "We won't take up much of your time. There are just a few questions we need to ask."

Her cheek gave a slight twitch at his form of address but she remained casual. "Why don't you send the boy away and you and I can have a grownup chat?"

"That was very inappropriate," Sweets scolded primly. "Mrs. Reed, we are looking for information regarding your stepdaughter's murder."

"Why ask me?" Ursula replied her tone shifting to indifference. "Ivory and I were not especially close."

"You married her father some time ago," Booth noted. "The two of you never managed to bond in the last twenty years?"

"Not really," she answered. "Ivory saw me as competition."

"For what?"

"Her father's attention," she said glaring at Sweets. "She seemed to think she was the center of the universe; probably because my husband treated her that way."

Booth spoke next, feeling the need to rescue Sweets from the woman across the table. "You attended her party the night of her disappearance, didn't you?"

"I was there. It was your typical gathering of sycophants all slobbering for a chance to stroke her ego."

"Interesting choice of words," Sweets muttered. "So you feel those invited weren't really her friends?"

"I think they were under her spell."

Booth and Sweets exchanged a puzzled look. "Like magic?" the psychologist asked.

"Like a siren's lure," she corrected. "The room was full of people she had enticed into her bed. If you ask me any one of them had motive to orchestrate her disappearance."

"How did her family feel about her activities?" Sweets asked intently.

Her cold eyes turned to him and he sat back instinctively cowed by her glare. "Her father would never believe me and I frankly grew tired of trying to convince him that she wasn't perfect. Ivory did as she pleased. Until you found a body my guess was that she simply found someone else to entertain her and ran away with him, or her, instead."

B&B

Brennan entered the diner and nodded when the three companions already seated looked her way. Booth stood as she approached and he leaned forward his lips meeting hers for a quick kiss hello. They both ignored the happy smiles of the young couple watching their exchange. "I apologize for my tardiness," Brennan said as she took the seat next to her partner.

"We just got here, Bones," Booth promised, his hand sliding across her back until his arm was wrapped around her shoulders.

"Just sat down, Temperance," Turner corroborated.

"I was confirming cause of death."

Their waitress had approached and her face screwed into a grimace of disgust. "Do I need to come back later?" she asked.

Brennan looked at her in confusion. "Why?" Her eyes turned to Booth. "Are you not ready to order? You always know what you want."

"Iron stomachs, Callie," Booth promised with a smile, "Comes with the job."

The waitress nodded a little excited to be receiving one of his stunning grins and Brennan rolled her eyes. "I would like a walnut-pear salad," she stated firmly.

"Oh, that sounds yummy," Turner gushed. "I'll have that too."

"Yeah, ok, me too," Sweets added.

Callie looked at Booth expectantly and he shook his head. "Meat, I'm having meat. Double cheese burger, extra fries."

"You need more roughage," Brennan said as she leaned toward him her voice low.

"I get plenty," he argued. "You keep enough vegetables in your apartment to feed a rabbit den."

"Those are called warrens," Brennan corrected.

He ignored the information on rodents and tried to get them back on task. "You said you had cause of death?"

"Yes, subdural hematoma, the blood staining at the juncture of the parietal and occipital bones is quite clear. Mr. Fisher is taking measurements now and Angela can have suggested scenarios programed for my examination by this afternoon."

Booth was nodding. "Great, you'll probably have details before we are finished with these seven interviews we have to do."

"Seven? Why so many?"

"I told you we met with the stepmother and the fiancé," Brennan nodded in agreement. "There wasn't much there except the fiancé is a nice guy and the mother is…"

"Hell on high heels," Sweets interjected. "That woman is scary."

Booth didn't object. "The bon voyage party is our best bet on a lead. Ivory was there, but she never showed for the visit with her father later that night."

"Are the seven interviews the entire guest list?" Brennan asked.

"No, just the interesting ones," Sweets answered. She cocked her head quizzically wanting further information and he leaned forward in excitement. "Ivory had a sexual relationship with each of them."

"How do you know?"

"The stepmother told us," Booth answered, "Spitefully."

"It should be totally fascinating," Sweets gushed. "You don't normally have access to so many indicators of a person's sexual proclivity. We'll know a great deal about Ivory Reed when we are done."

"I think you are a little excited by this one, Lance," Turner teased with a smile. "You haven't been hiding something from me have you?" She leaned into him and tweaked his cheek. "Do you have a kinky side I don't know about?"

"I'm interested academically," he protested, trying to keep from turning completely red.

"I like it," Turner answered as she leaned back. Her eyes darted to Brennan with humor. "I think I'm in for an interesting evening."

"Booth has a definite kinky side I did not anticipate," Brennan reported.

"Bones!" He tightened his grip on her shoulder and his voice dropped to a panicked whisper. "We're keeping it professional remember?"

"I wasn't going to give details," she scoffed.

* * *

><p>"Mrs. Wool, I know that this is difficult for you but there are a few questions we need to ask about your relationship with Ivory Reed." Booth explained to the very prim and proper Jane Wool as he and Sweets entered the conference room and took seats across from her.<p>

She grasped at the top button of her cardigan and nodded, "I understand."

"Now, you were at the bon voyage party for Ivory, correct?"

"That's correct." Jane avoided making eye contact with either of the men and kept her hand protectively holding her sweater closed.

"What was the nature of your relationship with Ivory?" Sweets asked as he leaned back, trying to give her any extra space he could, sensing that she needed it.

She tilted her head and one corner of her mouth tugged up, "Friends. We were friends."

"How did you two meet?" Booth asked.

"College." She adjusted her headband and smoothed her blonde hair down. "We met in college."

Taking the woman's lack of eye contact into account with her stilted responses, Sweets shook his head and pressed for the answer he knew she was withholding, "No, I think that you were more than friends, weren't you?"

Jane closed her eyes and exhaled deeply but refrained from answering the question.

Booth softly tapped on the table and then spoke in a low, soothing tone, "Mrs. Wool, we're trying to find out who killed your friend. Any information you can give us will help."

She opened her eyes just in time for one single tear to roll down her cheek, "Ivory and I were, we were… _involved_ for nearly two years in college."

"You had a sexual relationship?" Booth asked as the woman's face was taken over by a deep blush.

"Yes, I-I loved her…She was the first and," her voice faltered for a moment but then she continued, "and the only woman I ever had those kinds of feelings for. I'm not a lesbian; that was just a phase." She looked pointedly at Booth, "A phase; my husband doesn't even know about it."

Booth nodded, "I understand, we can be discreet."

"Thank you." She whispered before taking a small sip of water.

"Who ended things between you and Ivory?"

Jane sniffled and wiped her cheeks free of tears, "I did. We were graduating and I knew that I couldn't start my real life with her as a part of it. My parents never would have approved."

Booth glanced down at the file, "You graduated college more than five years ago. What were you doing at her going away party?"

"Ivory and I remained quite close. She was even a bridesmaid at my wedding a few years ago."

"You remained friends with your lesbian lover from college who _you_ broke up with?" Sweets asked with a brow cocked and his voice full skepticism.

"Yes." She showed them a small, shy smile, "You had to have known her to understand, she was so…so beautiful and full of life, people just wanted to be around her. Actually, Ivory remained friends with almost every person she had a relationship with, both men and women. We were all joking the night of her party that that's why Spencer was sweeping her off to London – so he didn't keep finding himself at dinner parties stacked with all of her former lovers." A flash of sadness crossed her pale, pretty face, "Not that Spence really cared, he loved her so much and she always said he was so perfect. She even used to call him her 'Prince Charming'. She was finally happy and now…" She took a tissue from the table and dabbed her eyes.

"At the party that night, did you see anything or anyone out of the ordinary? Maybe there was someone who shouldn't have been there?"

Jane shook her head, "Not that I remember, it was a fairly small group and most of us have been friends for a long time."

Booth made a few notes and then asked, "What time did you leave the party that night?"

"Uh, we had to be home by ten pm because our sitter couldn't stay past then. So, Chad and I probably left about nine-thirty."

"Was Miss Reed still there at that time?"

"Definitely. I remember finding her to say goodbye and she was sitting on the bar talking with a man and a woman I didn't know. Ivory was having a very good time but then she always did, even doing the most mundane things, she found a way to have a good time." She paused and shook her head, "If I had known I'd never see her again, I would have…I would have told her…"

The two men glanced at each other as she trailed off and more tears fell. Sweets shook his head slightly and Booth acknowledged him with a single nod. Booth closed the file in front of him, "We're very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Wool. We might need to ask you a few more questions but for now you're free to go."

Sweets slid the file away from Booth and looked through it while Jane left the room. Without looking up, he sighed, "Well, she didn't do it."

Booth shook his head, "Nope."

"The good news is we have still have six more people to interview. Chances are someone has to know something." Sweets looked at the agent hopefully.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Booth sighed, "Tell Turner to bring us the next one."

B&B

"This is epic, man." Brad Miner ran his hand through his hair and looked around in awe. "I'm at the FBI."

Booth glared at the lithe man, "Yes, you are and you're here as a person of interest in a murder investigation, so, have a seat."

Brad sat down and looked at Sweets, "Dude, if he's the agent, you gotta be like, the agent in training, right?"

Sweets glared at the man and then at Booth's poor attempt at stifling his laugh, "Uh, no. I'm Dr. Lance Sweets, I'm a psychologist here at the FBI."

"Very cool, I was young when I started my own yoga studio so I can totally roll with a younger guy working as a shrink for the feds."

"I'm so very glad you can." Sweets deadpanned, wanting to point out that those two things were not at all alike but instead he looked down at the file in front of him.

"Mr. Miner," Booth began, "You were at Ivory Reed's bon voyage party held at Oak Hills Country Club on December thirteenth, correct?"

"Of course, Ivory and I are tight. She never missed my Bikram classes. Well, that's at least until she did but, yeah I was there."

Booth looked over at Sweets, causing the psychologist to shake his head, "Yeah, I don't know what Bikram is either."

"Oh, my bad." Brad leaned toward the other men, "Bikram Yoga is what people refer to as hot yoga. It's a ninety minute class in a climate-controlled room. It's generally over 100 degrees and at 40 percent or higher humidity in the room. It's an intense, incredibly righteous experience."

"Really? Because it just sounds like a really bad day down the shore to me." Booth looked down at his notes, "How long had Ms. Reed been your student?"

Brad's eyed rolled up and he blew out a long breath, "I guess about two years."

"If she was just someone who took a class from you, why would you be at her going away party? It was a small gathering of mainly close friends." Sweets asked, beating Booth to the punch.

"Oh, Ivory was much more to me than a student. She was a good friend and at times a _really _good friend, if you catch my drift."

"You were romantically involved with Ms. Reed?"

"It wasn't all that romantic but it was hot." Brad looked at both men and then continued, "And not because of the climate control in my studio either."

B&B

Brennan spoke as soon as he answered. "I just received the report from pathology."

"About time," Booth grumbled.

"Cam isn't here; we're relying on a secondary source of analysis."

"I'm not complaining, Bones. I'm just hopeful for some good information?"

"She was in respiratory distress at the time of death."

"Like she couldn't breathe?"

"Correct."

"So she suffocated to death."

"No, the blow to the skull is still the confirmed cause of death."

"Was she being strangled?"

"There is no indication of that."

Booth sighed. "Ok. Thanks."

"Hey, Dr. B, I am…" Hodgins stopped speaking when she raised a hand and he realized she was on the phone.

Brennan switched the call to speaker. "Booth, Hodgins is here. Do you have something to report Dr. Hodgins?"

"Particulates in the skull confirm a hydrothermally-altered diorite."

"Which is what?" Booth snapped.

Hodgins shrugged even though the agent couldn't see him. "Common Virginia rock, the stuff is everywhere. This particular sample contained byssolite, prehnite, epidote and feldspar. It's a perfect match for the geological footprint of the area where she was found."

"So someone just picked up a rock lying on the ground and bashed in her skull?"

"That would be a logical assumption," Hodgins agreed. "I have some tests running, I'm hopeful I'll know more soon."

"Hopefully you'll get more than we did from Bashful and Dopey," Sweets piped in to say.

Hodgins smile showed his interest. "Bashful and Dopey?"

"Yeah, the first two of our seven interviews were a bust."

There was a murmur in the distance and they heard Turner telling Booth the next interview was ready. "Bones, we have to go. I'll call you in a bit with another update."

"Hi-ho, hi-ho it's off to work you go," Hodgins called out.

Sweets laughed but Booth very clearly said, "Shut up, Hodgins."

B&B

Booth held his head in his hands. "Is there anything else you'd like to add, Mr. Tunston?"

The man across the table shook his head but was unable to speak as another allergic reaction seized him. Sucking in a deep breath he made a quick grab for the box of tissues Booth was once again sliding toward him. He sneezed mightily and then blew his nose in a loud honk. "Nutheen further, Agen Boof," he said his clogged sinuses making his speech slurred and muffled. "Just that Ivory was the most beautiful woman I've eber known. I will miss her gweatly."

Tears glistened in his eyes and he blew his nose again.

"Thank you, Mr. Tunston," Sweets said climbing to his feet. "That will be all."

The thin man stood snatching up a tissue as he rose and another fit seized him. He offered his hand after the second sneeze but Sweets managed to avoid it. They heard three more honking blasts from his nose before he entered the elevator.

Sweets dropped back into his chair with a chuckle. "That one was Sneezy," he said as if Booth needed help seeing the similarity.

"Will you knock that off!" Booth hissed.

"Hey, Boss you ready?" Turner asked as she stuck her head through the open doorway.

"Please; let's get it over with," Booth answered.

"Ok, I'll have to wake him up. I think the guy might be narcoleptic. He dozed off three times while you were interviewing the last one."

"Don't say it," Booth warned when Sweets burst into laughter.

B&B

"Play it one more time," Brennan ordered. Angela ran the simulation again watching with sad eyes as the amorphous assailant approached Ivory from behind and swung the rock at her head. She flinched as the blow struck but Brennan nodded approvingly. "I'm confident that would result in the damage I see on the bone."

"He was a big guy," Angela noted as she froze the image.

"Given the required height to inflict that type of damage at that angle the presumption of male gender in her attacker is logical," Brennan agreed. She paused realizing she wasn't responding to the scenario in the same manner as Angela. Her blue eyes turned to her friend and she offered a sad smile. "We'll find him," she promised. The vow filled the silence between them and Angela nodded gratefully. "I'm going to call Booth," Brennan said as she turned for the door. "Good work, Ang."

"Some fairy tale," the artist muttered as she took one last look at the image on her computer screen.

Brennan felt Angela's melancholy and she dialed Booth without her usual pride in discovering a useful piece of information. When he answered however the sound of his voice lifted her spirits and she smiled. "Hey."

"What's wrong?"

"Angela and I were just analyzing Ivory's attacker. It is a sad ending."

"Yes it is," he agreed. "You ok?"

She understood the expression 'warmed her heart' as she felt her heated response to his concern. The warm tightness in her chest was a comfort and she immediately felt better. "I'm fine, Booth," she assured him. Sitting up straight she pushed the emotion aside and focused. "Given the damage to the skull I'm confident in stating her attacker was a large male."

"How large?"

"Six-three," she answered remembering to convert the measurement to terms he would understand.

"Damn."

"What?"

"None of our persons-of-interest fit that description."

Brennan slumped in her chair and sighed. "I would know that already if I was conducting interviews with you."

"You are the one who insisted you needed to be in the lab."

"I do! It's just…" she smiled to herself able to admit her frustration had as much to do with missing him as it did in wanting firsthand access to the field work. "I'm your partner."

"In every way," he agreed and she knew he was wearing a smile too. "If it makes you feel better, Bones I can assure you that I would much prefer to be conducting these interviews with you instead of Sweets."

"That does make me feel better."

"Good."

* * *

><p>"I've never really been a fan of Snow White," Angela mused as she lingered near Jack's work station on the platform. "Who wants to run away and live in a house with seven men?" She shook her head. "Do you know how much laundry that would be? If you ask me Cinderella has the best story. She marries the prince and I bet never has to do a single day of housework ever again." The smile she gave Hodgins showed an affection deeper than Cam would have approved of in the middle of the work day. "Sometimes I feel like Cinderella," she admitted.<p>

He winked at her. "I'll be your Prince Charming, Baby," he joked.

"I am happy the real life version doesn't include singing mice," she admitted with a laugh. "They are cute on film, but I don't need that."

Hodgins moved to the remains on the table and collected another sample for examination. "The sad part about this Snow White is her prince can't wake her with a kiss."

"What the heck are you two talking about?" Fisher asked in complete confusion.

Jack and Angela shared a quizzical look before the artist tried to answer. "What part didn't you get? You don't know about Cinderella and Snow White?"

"Of course I know Cinderella and Snow White," Fisher scoffed. "But what was all that about mice and kisses?"

Angela's expression was confused. "You know…the mice. They make Cinderella's dress and they sing that song."

Hodgins joined in. "Everybody knows Snow White wakes up when the prince sees her and kisses her. Kind of gross really, to kiss a chick in a coffin, but that's the story."

"No it's not," Fisher objected. "She wakes up when the apple piece falls out of her throat. Then she marries the prince and when the evil queen shows up for the wedding they put her feet in heated iron shoes and make her dance til she drops dead."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Hodgins cried horrified by the intern's version of the story.

"Grimms' Fairy Tales," Fisher shrugged. "Didn't your parents read them to you?"

"You read the original versions?" Hodgins gasped.

"My mother believed in exposing me to the definitive versions of literary works."

"So, you never saw the cartoons?" Angela asked.

"Never saw the point," Fisher answered. "Once you've read about the queen eating Snow White's heart, why watch it?"

"She does not!" Angela protested.

"Technically that's true," Fisher mused thoughtfully. "It's really a boar's heart isn't it? Still, she thinks its Snow White's, which makes her all the more deliciously evil." He glanced at the body. "I'd say this one got off pretty easy really."

B&B

"Hey, Alan!" James Evans called as he passed the man who had just finished answering Booth's questions. "How you doin', Buddy? Great to see you!"

"Get out of my way, Evans," the other man growled. "I can't believe we have to come down here. They should be out catching her murderer instead of asking questions about her party!"

"Come on, Alan, you know they have to start somewhere. I'm just happy we get to help even in some small way."

"Great, you help. I'm going to have a give a toast to Ivory and then get roaring drunk."

"Ok! Bye!" The cheerful man waved and then approached Booth who stood waiting at the conference room door. "Hi!" he said pumping the agent's hand. "Grumpy Gus," he joked nodding toward his departing friend. "I'm James Evans. You wanted to see me?"

Booth ushered their final interview into the room silently wondering if this was going to be the most challenging yet. "Mr. Evans," he began as they took their seats. "Aside from the party on the night of the thirteenth, how often did you see Miss Reed?"

"Every day!"

"Every day?" Booth asked cocking his head. He glanced at Sweets sharing the significance of that statement. This was someone who saw Ivory far more regularly than anyone else.

"Sure, she came by the coffee shop every morning." He smiled proudly. "She always said no one else could make her latte just right."

"Was it always a quick coffee stop or did you get a chance to chat?" Sweets asked already suspecting that no matter how busy, this chatterbox would have found time to talk to Ivory.

"That was the great thing about me and Ivory," Evans gushed. "We loved to talk. Most mornings she would sit around and I could find time to join her for a little while. It kept us close even after, you know, she dumped me."

Sweets was fairly sure he had never seen anyone smile so big while mentioning a breakup. "In those talks, did she ever mention any troubles?"

"Nah," he scoffed with a wave of his hand. "Ivory was like me. There was always a bright side! It was what made us a great couple and it was what drew people to her. Everyone wanted to be around her. I even had customers who would time their stop with hers."

"How do you mean?" Booth asked suddenly alert.

"You know, show up when she did because she was so great."

"Who did that, Mr. Evans?" Sweets prompted with more patience than Booth had available.

Evans shrugged. "There was this one guy, he came in every day right at the same time. He always let her go first and then he'd jump in line right behind her. I know he was there because of her because he was always watching her. He appreciated her."

"Could you describe him?"

"Big, tall dude," Evans answered. "Middle aged, maybe a couple years older than you," he added nodding at Booth.

Sweets bit his lip to keep from reacting. "Anything else?"

"Dark hair with a touch of gray," the barista listed. "Wore jeans every day so I don't think he had an office job."

"Anything else?"

Evans smiled and began to sing. "Yeah. Louie, Louie, oh no me gotta go. Aye-yi-yi-yi!"

"What is that?" Booth demanded.

"It's the Kingsmen," Sweets answered.

"Are you trying to be funny because Bones isn't here?"

"No, I just thought it was a question."

"Why the song, Mr. Evans?" Booth asked ignoring Sweets.

"That's what I sang to him every day. You know, when his order was ready. Tall brew, double sugar, extra black."

"So his name was Lou?" Booth asked trying desperately not to lose his temper.

"Yep!"

B&B

"Both Mrs. Wool and the Tunston guy confirmed the congeniality of the group," Booth said as he continued his summary. "I just don't think any of them were involved in any way." They sat on Brennan's couch, with Sweets opposite, comparing notes on each portion of the investigation.

"It is admirable that as a group the people around Ivory were able to set aside the potential emotional entanglements of prior sexual relationships. Much like our team they seemed to have found a way to enjoy each other's company without dwelling on the past."

"We aren't some group of swingers, Bones," Booth objected.

"There are quite a few prior entanglements around here," Sweets argued to Brennan's point. "But like you said, Bashful and Sneezy both said Ivory's group was able to adapt."

"Stop calling them that!"

"I find it helps identify each person since I was unable to attend the interviews," Brennan noted.

Booth shook his head. "Don't encourage the kid," he scolded. His attention returned to his notes. "The yoga guy was able to provide Ivory's time of arrival at the party."

Sweets snorted. "That's because Dopey got the time wrong and showed up two hours early." Booth glared at him and he clamped his lips closed.

"Ted Sidell, the co-worker, was the last to leave. He says Ivory was still talking of visiting her father that evening," the agent continued.

Sweets caught Brennan's inquiring look and mouthed "Sleepy."

She nodded her thanks. Booth's head lifted suspiciously and she gave him a wide smile. "You indicated there was a minor altercation during the party. Is there any chance that is a potential lead?"

Booth shook his head. "The Doc had words with the trainer, but it wasn't serious."

"I thought you didn't approve of Sweets' names for her friends?" Brennan said in confusion. "Isn't Doc one of the seven dwarfs?"

"In this case it's accurate," Booth objected. "Sherry Tooze was her college roommate and is now a pediatrician."

"She got in an argument with Grumpy, Ivory's trainer, over the intense workout he'd had her on to get in shape before the wedding. Not surprising really," Sweets added. "That dude was so grumpy he would argue with a stump."

"So, the final interview was the only one of any real consequence?" Brennan surmised.

"Happy!" Sweets interjected.

Her partner nodded as he shuffled through the paperwork on his lap and ignored the psychologist. "It's the closest thing to a lead we heard all day. I've got Turner going back over everything so far looking for anything we might have missed."

"She'll find something," Sweets said confidently.

"It's cute how he talks about her, isn't it?" Booth joked giving Brennan's shoulder a playful bump with his, eager to pay back some of the annoying behavior he had suffered through all day.

Brennan smiled as she caught his teasing tone and she nodded with exaggeration. "Adorable."

"Ok," Sweets said slightly embarrassed when he realized they were at least partially correct, he had jumped on that very quickly.

He was saved from further teasing as Hodgins burst into Brennan's office. "Wait until you hear this!" the entomologist cried with excitement. They were looking at him expectantly and he didn't wait for a prompt. "So, the clothes were a bust and I switched my focus to the other items found with the body."

"What else was there?" Sweets asked.

"She was jogging at the time," Brennan answered. "The only other item she had on her person was a music player."

"Yeah, and the thing was booby trapped!" Hodgins added.

Booth's face scrunched in disbelief. "How?"

"With proper alteration the battery could produce an electrical shock delivered via earphones," Brennan theorized.

Booth turned to look at her his face showing amazement. "Sometimes I worry about you," he muttered.

"No, no, it's far more ingenious," Hodgins assured them. "The thing was covered in unrefined peanut oil! It was washed off the surface of course, but when I pulled the thing apart the inside still had a hefty coating."

Brennan's understanding was clear and she nodded. "That would be most effective," she agreed.

"Why?" Booth asked. "Why is it effective?"

"Our princess was allergic to peanuts," Hodgins answered. "The oil was absorbed through her skin when she touched the iPod."

"And the exercise would have increased the rate of distress," Brennan added.

"But, don't you see," Hodgins continued still boiling with excitement. "That's not the most ingenious part!" He looked at their blank stares. "Oh, come on!" he said amazed that they didn't already get his point. "Don't make me say it." He shook his head when the three continued to wait for him to explain. "It's a poisoned APPLE!"

"Oh don't start!" Booth scolded.

"That is awesome," Sweets admired quietly.

Booth glared at him but his phone was ringing and he answered it instead. "Booth!"

"Hey, Boss. I might have something interesting." They all heard her since Booth had turned his phone to speaker.

"Great, give me something Turner, I'm surrounded by idiots over here. Idiots with genius IQ levels," he added when both Sweets and Hodgins looked offended.

"I started digging a little deeper on everyone you spoke with today. Turns out Ursula Reed might not be the devoted wife she claims."

Booth's eyebrow shot up and Brennan demand more information. "You have evidence of infidelity?"

"It seems Ursula has quite the reputation," Turner explained. "My info says her latest paramour is the stable hand, the guy that trains her horses."

"You got a name, Turner?"

"That's the interesting part. His name is Lou Clark."

"How tall is Lou the stable boy?"

"Six-three."

"Bingo, Baby!" He jumped to his feet. "Come on, Bones!"

"I can't," she reminded him.

"Oh, right," he said with chagrin as he realized his mistake. "Sorry." He bent and gave her a quick kiss. "Come on, Sweets," he said rolling his eyes for his partner to see.

B&B

"Lou Clark?" Booth called as he and Sweets stepped through the open barn door.

"Yeah!" a voice answered from somewhere inside. "One sec!"

They waited and after only a moment a tall middle-aged man emerged from a nearby stall. He shut the door behind him and approached. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI this here is my associate, Dr. Lance Sweets. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

The man's eyes widened but he quickly schooled his features into a mask of civility. "Sure, what about?"

"Were you acquainted with Ivory Reed, Mr. Clark?" Booth asked.

"No." He shook his head and ran his hand over the back of his neck. "No, I never met Ivory. I started working here about a year ago, but she had long since moved out and didn't come around much. Real shame what happened to her though."

"Yes, it was," Booth agreed. "You a big coffee drinker, Lou?" he asked suddenly.

"Sure, I guess about as much as the next guy. Why?"

"Ever frequent a coffee shop on Market Street?"

Lou shifted to his opposite foot. "Uh, sure yeah I think I've been there once or twice."

"Mr. Clark, can you account for your whereabouts on the night of December thirteenth?"

"What am I a suspect?" he laughed in disbelief. Booth only stared at him and he swallowed nervously. "Yeah, uh…ok, yeah I was in Charlottesville."

"You seem fairly certain of that. Is there any way to substantiate it?"

Clark nodded toward a small office. "Yeah, I probably have a receipt or something," he answered still sounding very nervous. "Let me look." They followed him exchanging a look behind his back that said they both had suspicions regarding his body language. He pulled a large ledger book from the drawer and began flipping through the pages. "There was a sale down in Charlottesville that week," he explained as he searched. They could see various notes and entries on the pages of the book all printed in neat handwriting. "I should have some info on where I was that day," he added as his phone rang. "Yeah," he answered as he continued to search. He froze when he heard the voice of his caller and when he spoke his voice was hushed almost to a whisper. "They're here now."

Trying to maintain a casual expression as he lifted his head to meet Booth's eyes he thumbed his hand at the door. "I just need to take this," he said. Booth nodded without answering and Clark scurried through the door to finish his phone call.

"Why did you let him do that?" Sweets asked.

"Because he left the book open." Booth quickly turned back several pages to get a better look at something that had caught his eye.

"What is it?" Sweets asked.

"It looks like a detailed account of Ivory's daily schedule."

There was a scrape of a boot against the floor and Booth turned already reaching for his handcuffs. "Lou Clark, you are under arrest."

* * *

><p>Brennan was completing yet another requisition form. She had not realized just how much of this tedious administrative paperwork Cam was required to submit. It was an unwelcome chore. She appreciated the ability to manage the lab to her exact specifications while the coroner was out, but the inane bureaucracy was a waste of her talents. Her time was much better utilized in direct application to her anthropological duties, and more importantly, her duties regarding FBI investigations.<p>

The thought of their current investigation caused her mind to drift and a sudden realization had her bolting from her chair. "Ang!" she called as she hurried into the artist's office.

"What's up, Sweetie?" Angela asked from her perch in front of an easel and canvas.

"I need to rerun that last scenario," Brennan answered with impatience.

"Ok, why?"

"I believe I miscalculated."

Angela's expression was disbelieving. "I guess it's bound to happen once in a while." She entered the necessary commands to her tablet and the Angelatron sprang to life.

Brennan took a step forward. "I didn't account for the respiratory distress," she lamented. "Hodgins found a great deal of residue still on the Apple device."

"Yeah, you have no idea how happy he is about that," Angela drawled.

"That amount remaining would indicate that on the day of the event the concentration was quite high."

"Sure," Angela agreed hesitantly.

"The onset of anaphylaxis would be induced at a higher rate due to the prevalence of the allergen and her increased respiratory rate."

"Ok," Angela agreed again.

"She would have been experiencing physical distress."

Angela nodded as she caught up with Brennan's train of thought. "Like shortness of breath."

"Acute," the anthropologist insisted. "It would have affected her movement."

"Sure, like maybe she was bent over; to catch her breath." Angela adjusted the image on the screen so that Ivory was bent double, her hands on her knees as if gasping for breath.

Brennan shook her head. "The blow was not delivered in a downward angle." She studied the image for another beat. "What if she were on her knees?"

Angela nodded as she once again altered the parameters on the tablet. The character representing their victim jogged across the screen and then took two or three faltering steps before falling to her knees. The attacker character emerged and delivered the same blow and once again Angela flinched.

"No," Brennan said with a frown. "The angle is wrong. Ange, reduce the height of the attacker by fifteen percent."

When the artist complied and the scenario played out Brennan nodded in approval.

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Angela asked.

Brennan turned. "If you think it means the killer was five-foot-four you would be correct."

"You better call Booth," Angela said. "He arrested the wrong guy."

B&B

"Sweets hold up," Booth called.

The psychologists halted his hand on the door to the interrogation room. "Why?"

"Bones just called. She recalculated her estimate based on the information Hodgins provided about the peanut allergy."

"And?"

"And Lou can't be our guy. Bones says the killer is only five-foot-four."

"So, you have to let this guy go?"

"No way," Booth assured him. "He knows something. You saw his face when we started asking questions."

"Totally," Sweets agreed. "He definitely knows something."

Booth nodded. "Follow my lead," he said as he turned the knob and opened the door.

"I don't understand," Lou said the moment they entered. "I showed you the ledger. I can prove I was down in Charlottesville that night!"

"You can," Booth agreed. "But what I need to know is why you were following Ivory Reed."

"I…I don't know what you are talking about."

"Lou," Sweets said leaning forward as if he were offering advice. "Agent Booth has a really short temper and he doesn't react well to being lied to." Lou's eyes darted nervously to Booth who sat scowling at him. "If we check the security tapes at the coffee shop I'm pretty sure we are going to see you there, right?" Lou nodded and Sweets pressed. "I think that means you should tell him what he wants to know."

"Why were you following Ivory Reed?" Booth repeated.

"I was supposed to learn her routine so I could carry out the plan," he mumbled.

Booth tapped the table. "I'm a little hard of hearing, Clark," he barked. "Speak up. What plan?"

"I didn't do it!"

"We know," Sweets soothed. "You were in Charlottesville."

Lou shook his head. "No, not that night, I meant the plan. I didn't go through with the plan."

"The plan for you to kill Ivory," Booth stated without question.

Lou nodded. "I didn't do it!"

B&B

"Boss, you are a genius!" Turner called as she entered Booth's office.

"I've been told on numerous occasions that I'm not," Booth answered.

Turner chuckled and dropped into the chair in front of his desk. "Well, if you want to get technical," she laughed.

"What do you have Turner?"

"You had me going over that will you subpoenaed." Booth gave her an impatient look and she hurried her explanation along. "You were right. If Ivory preceded her father in death then everything went to the wife." Booth nodded. "You don't seem surprised," Turner noted.

"I'm not. I've seen it before. Plus, my gut told me it was the only possible explanation."

"I thought we followed the evidence?"

"We do. But sometimes to find the evidence you have to trust your gut."

"So, you trust your gut more than the evidence, more than the science?"

Booth shook his head. "I trust the science. If I didn't, Bones and I wouldn't be what we are." Turner smirked at that and he shook his head. "Get your mind out of the gutter, I meant professionally. Our partnership is based on a balance. She's the science, I'm the intuition. It works best when you trust them equally."

"I'll try to remember that," the young agent replied.

The call of his name at the door with an accompanying knock made them both turn. "Your suspect is here," Agent Gaines reported.

"Come on, Turner," Booth said as he stood and slipped his jacket back over his shoulders. "You can watch from the observation room when my gut saves the day."

B&B

"Mrs. Reed, when was the last time you saw Ivory?" Sweets asked, easing into the real line of questioning.

The woman rolled her eyes and sighed audibly. "I've answered that question many times. Don't you people read what you write down?"

"I'm afraid we have to keep asking," Sweets replied mildly. "There are reasons."

She snorted with contempt. "Yes, you assume you will catch someone in a lie. Well, I'm not lying. Ivory was at her party of course, but she never showed up to visit with her father afterward." Her voice changed to something both men easily identified as faked regret. "He was so devastated when she didn't show. And then when he learned she was missing. Well, it almost killed him."

"You are certain you did not see her after you left the party?" Booth asked.

"I said that didn't I?"

Booth lifted an eyebrow at her harsh retort, but he continued in a mild tone. "Do you exercise regularly, Mrs. Reed?"

Her entire demeanor shifted and she suddenly offered him a softer, more inviting smile. "Thank you for noticing, Agent Booth. I do exercise regularly." She smirked as her eyes moved slowly over him. "You obviously do more than your fair share in the gym."

"You are an equestrian, right?" Sweets interjected.

She looked to the psychologist with a scowl. "The horses are a hobby." Her eyes returned to Booth and she spoke through a smile. "I do regular yoga and pilates to maintain my flexibility and taut body."

"How about jogging?" Booth asked. "Ever do any of that?"

"No, not really my style," Ursula answered sitting back. His question had rattled her but she hid it well. Anyone but the two men watching her might have missed it.

"Ivory was a runner," Sweets stated.

"So?"

"She jogged often in the park where her body was found."

"You would think someone would have looked there sooner," Ursula theorized coolly.

"If they'd known she was alive the morning after her party they might have," Booth agreed.

The woman's eye twitched, just a tiny movement, but it was a definite reaction to his words. "Well, in answer to your question," she repeated. "I'm not a runner."

"But you did visit the park in Boonsville," Booth noted.

Ursula shook her head and scoffed. "No."

Booth opened the file at his elbow and slid two photocopies across the table. "The toll records from the turnpike show you took the exit to Draper Park at six-fifteen he morning of the fourteenth and that you returned two hours later. "What were you doing in Draper Park for two hours that morning?"

"I…I had no idea I was there that long," she stammered. "I was distraught over Ivory ignoring her father. I was troubled by his reaction to her behavior and I needed time to think."

"It took longer than you anticipated, didn't it?" Sweets asked.

She turned to him confused by the question. "What?"

"For the anaphylactic shock to kill her," he clarified. "It took longer than you expected."

"I…"

"You see," Sweets pressed. "Agent Booth has this amazing partner. She can't be here today, that's why I'm here, but if she were here you'd understand. Because she knows exactly what happened. She examined Ivory's body, she studied her bones and she knows."

There was fear in Ursula's eyes now and they both leaned forward in anticipation. "You knew Ivory was allergic to nuts," Booth stated as factually as Brennan would have. "And you coated her iPod with the peanut oil that night at the party. Then you drove to the park to make certain it worked. You'd already had the plan for Lou to kill her fall through and you were out of time. She was leaving for London that day."

Ursula's eyes widened in panic but her lips tightened into a firm line of refusal.

"So you waited," Sweets continued. "But while she struggled to breathe, even fell to her knees, she just wouldn't die."

"So you picked up a rock," Booth finished. "And you hit her hard enough to make her brain bleed."

"Since you convinced everyone she had already disappeared the night before," Sweets added. "It was almost a perfect plan. She disappeared and then all you had to do was wait around for your husband to die and then all that money was yours."

"It was already supposed to be mine!" Ursula snapped. "I was his wife! Do you have any idea how annoying it was to watch him dote on that brat year after year? She was young, she was beautiful, she didn't need my money! But instead of taking care of me, he bent over backwards to take care of that princess. What was I supposed to do, just let her marry her prince and ride off into the sunset with my money too! No way! That wasn't happening!"

"Well what's happening now," Booth said as he stood, "Is that you are going to jail. Ursula Reed, I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Ivory Reed."

B&B

"Ok, its eight o'clock on the dot just like I promised," Hodgins bragged as he entered Angela's office.

"Thank you, babe," she said before beginning to put away her paints.

"You didn't believe me," he accused.

There was no sense denying it, the fact that she had still been painting made it quite clear she hadn't expected him to meet the deadline. "Jack, you've kept me waiting every time."

"Yeah, but I promised I was going to try harder."

Angela nodded. He had tried and she had to give him credit for it. Last week he had kept her waiting ten minutes, the week before thirty, so being on time meant he was truly trying to keep his word. These nights were a compromise and he was making an effort. She had agreed to wait, one night per week; one night for him to focus on finding something new among the golden beetles and collected particulates from each of the Creeps murders. It was a solution they could both live with because he couldn't stop trying to find an answer and she couldn't continue to watch him obsess daily.  
>"You did try," she admitted as her arms wrapped around his neck. "Thank you."<p>

"What are you working on?" he asked when their kiss ended.

Angela turned toward her canvas. "Ivory inspired me," she explained.

Jack looked at it trying to use the skills she had given him on their endless museum trips in Paris. "It's quite evocative, Babe," he praised. "I get a sense of euphoria and a darkness at the same time."

Angela beamed to hear him expressing what she intended in the art. "That was the idea," she gushed. "There's just such a difference between the Snow White tale we know and the one Fisher told us. It felt like that was a good metaphor for Ivory's life. It was all light and happy with those she loved and with that future she had planned. And yet it was dark and terrible in the way her stepmother hated her and schemed against her."

"Reality is a lot closer to the Brothers Grimm than Disney I think," Hodgins agreed.

"Just promise me one thing," Angela said as they turned from the painting and headed for the door.

"Anything, you know that."

"Never tell me the Grimms' version of Cinderella. I don't want to know."

"Nothing but singing mice and happily ever after for you, Babe," he vowed.

* * *

><p>"Did you really object to the obvious comparisons between Ivory and the fairy tale?"<p>

"It was silly," Booth answered around the toothbrush in his mouth. "I'm surprised that didn't bother you more, Bones." He continued to brush as he waited for her answer.

Brennan set down the hairbrush she had been using and reached for her own toothbrush. "I never detected any intended disrespect to the victim." She trailed a dollop of paste over her bristles as she continued. "Disrespect is something I will not tolerate."

"I know."

She began to brush as he leaned forward and spit. "The similarities were striking," she admitted. "The seven lovers each with a distinctive characteristic, the stepmother designing her death and of course her striking beauty."

Booth lifted his eyes without rising from his angle over the bowl. His dark eyes watched her in the mirror as he swirled the water in his mouth and the shot a stream into the sink. Still keeping eye contact in the mirror on the wall he moved, speaking as he stood, "You are far more beautiful."

She rolled her eyes at him and giggled when he turned and tried to kiss her. "I'm brushing my teeth," she stated around a mouth full of lather and brush. She giggled again when he leaned down with her to place a kiss on the back of her neck as she rinsed.

When she righted herself he saw the look on her face. "What?" he prompted. "What are you thinking about?"

"I've never understood the infatuation with fairy tales."

"Not even as a little girl? Come on, Bones, every little girl loves that stuff."

She shrugged. "I recall a few references, but I was never an enthusiast. And from my vantage point today, I would say that is best. The concept of happily ever after is deceptively simplistic."

She was walking away and as she flipped the switch she left him standing in the darkened bathroom with a new kind of worry. "What do you mean deceptively simplistic?" he asked and hustled after her.

"You don't find it misleading?" she asked as she turned down the covers on her side of her bed.

He grabbed his half and pulled still focused on their conversation. "Misleading how?"

"Am I correct that as a general rule the story ends with the princess being rescued by the prince who then proposes marriage? And their subsequent union is presented as an ultimate reward by creating an environment that is happy ever after?"

"Wow, I think you just squinted up fairy tales so much they'll never recover." She made a face and he chuckled, "Yes, that's the general idea. What's wrong with it?"

Brennan slid into bed and he followed. "It's not that easy," she answered as they settled.

"What?"

"A monogamous relationship," she answered. "To suggest that the characters move in together and suddenly all hardship is avoided is simplistic and it glosses over the complex issues that arise when you begin a serious relationship involving cohabitation."

They weren't officially living together, but they damn well might as well be and Booth felt a growing since of dread. "Bones, are you having a problem with me being here so often?" he asked.

"No," she stopped when she saw his look of relief. Scooting closer she touched her hand to his cheek. "I simply meant that to reach the reward suggested in those tales, we are required to put forth some effort. We are not able to simply be happy, we have to adapt to one another." She pulled him close and pressed her freshly brushed mouth to his. When their lips parted she continued in a soft voice of sincerity. "Learning to be with you makes me very happy."

"You know what makes me happy?" he asked his voice dropping to a playful growl.

Brennan could think of several things but she lay back on the pillow with an expression of crafted innocence. "What?"

It worked. She was quickly learning it always worked. A simple look of anticipation could get her exactly what she wanted. It was a benefit of nonverbal communication she had never fully appreciated until now. She smiled encouragement as Booth shifted his body over hers. "I get really happy when I can hear those sounds you like to make," he answered.

"What sounds?"

Brennan's voice was breathy and soft and she sighed when his lips brushed her neck. "Like that one," he whispered in her ear when he heard the sigh. His lips slid over her, brushing her skin but only barely and his hand did the same tracing her curves without making contact. Brennan moaned with longing. "I really like that one," he gloated.

"I enjoy making you happy," she teased looking up at him with blue eyes that promised he would be overjoyed. "What other sounds do you like me to make?"

Booth chuckled as he slid his hand beneath her pajamas top. "This is how you get to happily ever after, Bones."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us again next week when Booth and Brennan have to go undercover at a truck stop where several bodies were found, and Hodgins finds that being King of the Lab isn't always all that it's cracked up to be in The 10 in the 4 by Thnx4theGum and GCatsPJs.<strong>_


	12. The 10 in the 4

6.5 x 12: The 10 in the 4 ~ Written by Thnx4theGum and GCatsPJs (Thnx4theCatsPJs) 

"Dad, Cyndi crossed the line!"

"Did not," the accused party jumped to her own defense, resisting the urge to reach across this so called 'line' and pinch her brother's arm.

"Yuh huh," the boy pointed to a notebook that lay between them. "That's the line, and you crossed over it."

"You two are so lame," their older sister looked up from her book long enough to roll her eyes.

"Your face is lame," the boy shot back.

"Mom, Billy's callin' names again," Cyndi reported dutifully.

"Morgan started it," Billy huffed.

Accusations were flung back and forth with more than one call for mediation from the adults in the front seat.

"Don't make me pull this car over," their father threatened idly when the noise reached a fever pitch.

"Please do," the teenager put in, this time without looking up from her book.

"Does that mean we can stop somewhere?" Cyndi wanted to know. "'Cause I'm bored."

"I gotta pee," Billy put in his two cents.

"See the East Coast in a station wagon over winter break; you said," the children's mother gave her husband a withering glare. "It'll be fun; you said."

Desperate for anything that would free him from this prison on wheels, he pulled the car into the nearest truck stop and started looking for a space, just as yet another fight erupted in the back seat between Billy and Cyndi.

"I've had it!" he yelled into the chaos, turning to face them for the first time. "This stops _now, _I am putting my foot down!"

Unfortunately his foot went down on the accelerator, hurtling them forward and transforming the yells in the backseat to screams. He pulled his foot away immediately, scrambling for the brake but he didn't get to it before the car hit something solid and bounced to a halt.

"Did we hit somebody?" asked Billy eagerly.

"Stay in the car," his father ordered him as he slammed the car into park and opened the door to assess the damage.

There was no way that was happening, and before anyone could stop him, the young boy opened his door and slipped out. Beneath his sneakers was a river of oil gushing from a gaping hole in the old barrel that had halted the station wagon.

"Gross," Billy grinned, thinking this was way cooler than being trapped in a car with his sisters.

He took a small step forward, bending to get a closer look when something bumped against his sneaker. His eyes widened at the object as he wrapped his fingers around it and looked up to see his father to be more concerned with the damage to the car.

"Hey, Dad!" the boy called, waving his find in the air. "Maybe you killed someone after all."

Oil dripped from the skull in the boy's hand and from inside the car the three girls let out an ear piercing, fright filled scream.

B&B

"Chop, chop, Bones," the familiar staccato rap of knuckles sounded on her door just before Booth burst in with a smile on his face.

"We have a case?" she looked up hopefully from the sea of paperwork she was drowning in.

"Yep," he returned brightly.

"I'll get my kit," she hopped up from her seat, grateful for the interruption.

"Actually," Booth dragged the word out, halting her in her tracks, "you won't need it."

"Is there flesh?" she wrinkled her nose at the thought.

Booth shook his head, "No, no. It's all bones, just like you like."

"Your tone suggests that you are purposefully withholding details that I will not like," she accused, crossing her arms over her chest as she awaited his explanation. Her eyebrow raised slowly, and she watched his brow crinkle in concern.

The thought crossed Booth's mind that maybe teaching her how to read people wasn't such a great thing after all, but instead of voicing that out loud, he chose his next words very carefully, "You don't need your kit because we don't have a crime scene to go to."

"Every crime has a crime scene," she countered, arms still crossed, eyes still boring into him.

He shifted on his feet, rubbing a hand through the short hairs on the back of his neck, "Well, yeah, I mean, there was a crime scene but there isn't now." She didn't move a muscle but kept staring at him until he continued, "Okay, long story short, this was a local jurisdiction case in Virginia and when they realized they were in too deep, they punted it to the State guys. I got a call from my buddy Scott with the state troopers who knows this kind of thing is our bread and butter."

"And he 'punted' the puck to us?" Brennan guessed.

"Ball," Booth corrected, "well, case to be more specific, and yeah, so it's all on its way here."

"All?" she was unable to conceal her curiosity.

Only then did Booth relax and reveal the file he'd kept hidden behind his back, his grin returning, "Yeah, you're gonna love this one. A family on vacation rams this oil drum at a truck stop down in Virginia only there's a whole lot more than just oil in it."

"A body?" she had crossed the room and was now standing beside him, peering at the photograph of a skull inside the file.

"Not just one. Scott told me there were hundreds of bones in there, including four of these," he tapped the picture. "And that's just in the first barrel."

"First?" now she was definitely intrigued.

Booth cell phone chirped at his side and he glanced at the text, "They're here."

Not wasting any time Brennan plucked the file from his hands and headed out. If she was planning on rounding up her squinterns she needn't have bothered as they began appearing from all corners of the lab to see what the commotion was all about so that by the time Booth made it to the glass doors he had to push his way through a small mob.

The doors slid open silently, admitting the FBI tech crew Booth had sent out to retrieve the evidence that morning while Brennan began handing out assignments to the squints. A clear container filled with oil-slicked bones was wheeled in first, followed by not one, but three rusty oil drums that had clearly seen better days.

Hodgins appeared beside Brennan, helping her delegate tasks while Angela began taking inventory. A cacophony of noise echoed off the smooth surfaces as Clark, Wendell, Vincent, Arastoo, Fischer, and a few other squints Booth didn't recognize began setting up extra tables on the platform and snapping pictures as the evidence was unloaded.

"Sarge!" a familiar voice turned Booth's attention away from the platform and he grinned.

"Lefty!"

The two men clasped hands and clapped each other on the shoulder.

"Thanks for the assist," the other man said as they watched the squints continue to swarm to and fro.

"No problem," Booth told his old friend. "How's Virginia treating you?"

"Can't complain," the state trooper shrugged. "This is way out of my league, though."

"Not ours," Brennan interjected, appearing at Booth's side and offering her hand to the newcomer.

"Scotty Holt meet my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan," Booth introduced them.

"A pleasure," Holt nodded.

"Have the other drums been tampered with?" Brennan wasted no time in asking.

To Booth's relief the man shook his head, "The barrels were so rusty we didn't want to chance breaking another one open so everything was x-rayed when it got to us." He offered a film folder to Brennan and went on, "There were seven at the scene altogether but only four had hitchhikers."

"I'll need those," she said absently as she continued examining the film. "And the barrel that was struck as well. And anything else that was collected at the crime scene. Witness statements can be given to Booth."

Something one of the squints was doing caught her eye and she excused herself quickly and strode away.

"Wow," Holt shook his head, following her with his eyes as she gained the platform and began lecturing her students.

"Yeah," Booth couldn't help the goofy half grin.

"Oh, ho!" Holt's attention was back on his friend, a knowing look in his eye, "Wait, you and her, huh?"

Booth nodded smugly.

"You always did like 'em strong, Sarge," came the reply. Then he cleared his throat and passed a file over to Booth, "Is she as good at this kind of thing as they say she is?"

Without a moment's hesitation Booth nodded, "Better."

* * *

><p>It was agreed upon by the partners, that a relaxing evening in at one of their apartments, nestled among the voluminous amounts of paperwork and files for the case, would be the best idea for the evening. They flipped through files and tossed about theories, mixed among anecdotes and a bit of laughter in between bites of Chinese food. They had come to see that their personal and professional relationship had already been so entwined, that everything just seemed to fall into place naturally.<p>

There was a brief moment of comfortable silence between the two of them, and the food had long since been devoured. "I'll start cleaning up," Brennan said, standing up to gather the discarded food boxes that remained open on the coffee table.

"I'll help," Booth said, standing as well, he plucked one of the containers from her hand, and gathered their empty beer bottles. Her glare only encouraged him to pull the other container from her fingertips just as the doorbell rang. They exchanged a confused glance, and Booth lifted an eyebrow. "Expecting company?"

Brennan's brow furrowed in confusion and she shook her head, stepping toward the door as the doorbell sounded once again. "No," she shook her head. Booth continued to clean up as she opened the door to the apartment, and when he saw who was entering the apartment, he continued into the kitchen. "Dad, what are you doing here?" She asked, her voice laced with surprise.

"Can't a father drop in on his daughter unannounced?" Max asked, a playfully sarcastic tone in his voice. "Hey, Booth," He called through the apartment. "Is he living here or something?" Max asked with a laugh.

"No," Brennan replied, rather strongly.

"Hey, Max," Booth replied, turning off the water in the sink as he discarded the two bottles in the bin beneath the sink.

Brennan patiently awaited the answer to her question of her father's arrival, and followed him through the apartment toward the couch. She was a bit anxious, watching her father step over to the folders on the table, he lifted one up, just as Brennan plucked it from his fingertips. "What did you need, Dad?" She asked, handing the folder over to Booth as he walked around the couch and sat in the chair on the other side of the coffee table.

Max sat heavily on the couch, and looked up at his daughter with a knowing smile. "I just wanted to come over and congratulate you," he said sincerely.

Brennan and Booth exchanged a nervous glance. "Congratulate me?" Her voice held steady. "Congratulate me for what?"

"I mean, it is about time you were recognized for all of the hard work that you put in over the years. You practically run the place anyway, regardless of what Cam thought." He said flippantly.

"Run what place?" Brennan asked, any nervousness suddenly dispelled and replaced with confusion.

"Max, what are you talking about?" Booth asked, leaning forward slightly.

"The lab," Max answered Brennan's question and avoided Booth's, though the matching expressions of confusion on their faces told him that hadn't cleared things up. "I heard that Tempe is running the show now," Max explained, noting the slight relaxation in his daughter's posture at his words.

"What do you mean?" Booth replied, hoping to understand exactly what Max was driving at, he stood up and walked toward Brennan. "Did you want a drink?" He asked, glancing between the two of them.

"No, I'm fine." Brennan said, still not taking her eyes off her father. "Dad, what do you mean 'I am running the show'?"

"I heard that Cam was out, and Tempe was in," Max said, again looking between the two of them.

"Temporarily," Booth said shortly. "Most women like to take off for a few weeks when they have a baby." He paused. "Beer, Max?"

"Sure, sure," Max was flustered, looking between the partners in confusion. "A baby?"

"Yes," Brennan said, looking to Booth, and back at her father. "That is typically what follows conception, and forty weeks of pregnancy." She straightened and sighed. "Cam left me in charge while she's on maternity leave."

"Oh." Max nodded. "So you're not replacing Dr. Saroyan?"

"No," She shook her head.

"So you can't get me a job?"

"You had a job at the lab, Max," Booth said pointedly. "And you left. Again."

Brennan fixed the two of them with matching glares, but for a moment neither noticed as they exchanged their own glares.

Max stood up abruptly and walked toward the door, turning as he approached the exit. "Alright, I can see that I am not wanted around here. You two are obviously working on some important case, and I am just messing up your rhythm." An exaggerated sigh whisked through his lips.

"Dad, you don't have to go. It's okay." Brennan said, if but a bit too desperately, slightly concerned that Booth had upset the tenuous balance between all of them. "You haven't had your beer."

"I should really go." He said, offering a sad smile, he affixed a glare on Booth for a moment, allowing it to soften slightly. "Sorry about the misunderstanding. I'll check in soon, okay? Just be careful."

"I am always careful," Brennan replied, the concern still evident in her voice.

"I know you are, sweetheart." He said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "I'll see you soon."

B&B

"So you and Booth served together in the Rangers?" Brennan asked Holt the next morning as they sat eating breakfast at the diner.

"Yup," the other man nodded, "I was the Goose to his Maverick."

"_Top Gun_," Booth put in at Brennan's confused look.

"I know _that_," she sniffed, "but didn't Goose die?"

"Um, yeah," a surprised Booth answered.

"But, you're not dead," she scrutinized Holt and looked back and forth between the two men for an explanation.

Neither one knew what to say to that so Booth quickly changed the subject to the case, "We've got ten bodies we're looking at, right Bones?

"We have ten skulls," she corrected. "Misters Vaziri, Bray, Fisher, and Nigel-Murray, plus Dr. Edison are still cataloguing the remains to determine how many sets there are. It could take some time."

"Right," Booth nodded, "so in the meantime we can question some of the witnesses again and go check out the crime scene."

Brennan's smile was cut short by Holt's frown, "It's not that easy." The partners waited for an explanation and Holt leaned in over his coffee, lowering his voice, "Look, we've known that something shady has been going on down there for a while but there's never been any solid proof. People around there got hit pretty bad when the economy went south and some of them are just doing whatever they can to survive. Jed Taylor - the sheriff who handed this over to me - is a local and the only reason we've got any witness statements at all is because of him. They all clammed right up when I went poking around and you can sure as hell bet they won't talk to a Feeb; no offense."

Booth waved the comment off, "So the locals won't trust us, huh?"

Holt shook his head, "There's no way, man."

Far from disappointed, however, a wide grin was spreading on Brennan's face.

"You know," she began in her obtusely subtle manner, "Booth and I are quite adroit at undercover work."

"Adroit?" Booth raised an eyebrow at the same time Holt asked, "Really?"

"Yes," Brennan's head bobbed up and down with barely contained enthusiasm. "We've been quite successful in solving cases that way. I'm a very good actress."

"Hey, you could be my girlfriend," Booth teased, warming to the idea.

"Yes!" she squealed, her grin lighting up her entire face. "Then it would be logical for us to spend time together."

"Is she okay?" Holt wasn't sure what to make of the forensic anthropologist who to this point had been more calm and rational than anything, but seemed to be bursting at the seams right now.

"She's fine," Booth assured his friend. "She just _really_likes undercover work."

"I really do," Brennan concurred.

"What about the lab, though?" Booth's sudden thought made him frown. "I mean, you're the boss while Cam's gone, so who's going to manage things there?"

"Hodgins is quite capable," she shrugged, not giving it more than a moment's thought.

"Hodgins has triggered more emergency containment alerts than everyone else in that lab combined," Booth reminded her.

"There is nothing in this case that would require him to create a bomb or any other incendiary device," she shook her head, not registering that Holt's eyes were now as wide as saucers. "Besides, my interns will be there to assist him, so it's not as if he'll be lacking for help."

"You just want to get out of the lab," he accused her. "And I have a very strong feeling that you just might miss me."

"Miss you?" she tilted her head to one side, her voice on the edge of a scoff. "We have a very vigorous sex life. I think that more than satisfies our need for togetherness." She shrugged, though the playfulness glinted in her eyes.

Booth choked down his coffee and shot back, "But we haven't worked together, and I mean actually, worked together in days, Bones. Not out in the field. Just admit it," he leaned toward her, lowering his voice to a soft purr. "You. Miss. Me."

She pulled back, huffing as she crossed her arms over her chest and refusing to give him the pleasure of admitting he was right.

"Wow," Holt breathed, reminding the couple that they weren't exactly alone. Holt cleared his throat, "Um, I can probably talk to Jed and see if he can find work for you down there. You still fix cars, Sarge?"

"Booth is an excellent mechanic," Brennan assured him.

"Thanks, Bones," Booth smiled.

She shrugged, "It's the truth."

"Of course it is," he winked at her.

She was trying to discern the meaning behind his wink when Holt put in, "We'll have to come up with some fake IDs too."

"The FBI has those for us," Brennan's attention was back on the case.

"As the Moosejaws," said Booth, his voice holding a slight tinge of sarcasm.

"I thought you said you liked Wanda?" Brennan asked saucily.

Booth wasn't sure he wanted to know what she was about to say but to his relief her phone went off from its place on the table. She pushed the screen about twenty times before informing them that it was a message from Angela with a question about the case. As the three of them had finished eating, Brennan suggested that Booth and Holt go back to the Hoover and work on the undercover details while she prepared the lab for her imminent departure.

B&B

Brennan arrived at the lab, and was not surprised to see that everyone was working at a quick and highly productive rate. She allowed a small smile to curl at the corner of her mouth as she marched through the lab, sliding her card through the security scanner. She was pleased to see that the attention of the squinterns had been piqued, and made a remark to gather everyone involved in the case to the platform for her attention.

Brennan, looking to the eager faces around her, felt a swell of pride at the power she was holding, a power she had always had, but was never acknowledged openly. "My first order of business, Agent Booth is in need of my assistance, and it is going to take me out of the lab for a day or two. I will still need you all to focus on the case at hand, and we will be in contact throughout the case." She sighed resignedly, and her chest swelled with pride for her work.

It was partly due to the fact that she was 'officially' in charge that sent a jolt of electricity through her, and gave her that extra push she needed in order to trust her people to maintain control of the lab in her absence. She also knew that giving Hodgins an opportunity to be in charge would go a long way in pulling his focus from the Creeps McGee case that he had found himself so fully involved in. Though when he walked up to her and announced that there was no insect activity found on the bodies, she knew that he was still wholly wrapped up in it.

"Thank you for the update, Doctor Hodgins," She said softly, smiling warmly at him. "So, since I have agreed to assist Agent Booth in the field, I will need to assign someone to take care of the lab in my absence." She paused, noting the raised eyebrows of her colleagues. "Doctor Hodgins will be..."

"Yes!" Hodgins exclaimed in a barely contained whisper, pumping his fist just lightly, he said, straightening at Brennan's glare. "Sorry, go on, Doctor B."

"As I was saying, Doctor Hodgins will be your point of contact for any issues, or concerns. He will keep me informed of the goings on in the lab, and keep me apprised of the progress on the lab end of the case. Are there any questions?"

There was a chorus of head shakes, and a slight whisper that spread through the crowd as they began to disperse. "Thank you for your time." She said with a smile, turning toward her office, though even in her obvious preoccupied state, she couldn't help but smile a little brighter, when she heard Hodgins announce quietly to Wendell, that he was finally, officially, king of the lab.

* * *

><p>"Bonnie!" Sheriff Jed Taylor called as he and his companions sat down at the counter amid the bustling lunch crowd.<p>

A short, plump woman at the other end of the counter with a bright yellow apron that proclaimed "The Truck Stops Here" turned, giving Jed a grin as she called back, "Be right with you, Sugar!"

Snapping her gum, she topped off three coffees down at her end, took orders from a pair of sweaty, overweight men who looked like they hadn't seen a shower in days, and after calling back the order to the cook, she sauntered over to the Sheriff and his two friends.

"Hey, darlin', what can I do you for?" She asked, snapping her gum, she chomped open mouthed as she gave the three of them a wink.

"Bonnie," Jed said with a bit of a twang in his voice. "Wanda here is my mother's sister's cousin's girl. They just moved to the area, and I was wonderin' if you by chance were in need of any help around here."

Bonnie gave Brennan a once over, her eyes narrowing as they often did when she stared at a hamburger patty on the grill to see if the center was still frozen. "You ever done any waitressin' hun?" Bonnie asked.

Brennan and Booth exchanged a brief glance, it was subtle but there. "Yes ma'm, I have." She said, her voice containing a thick northeastern accent that she often used for her portrayal of Wanda. She pressed her palm against her wily permed hair and chomped on a piece of gum.

"Alright, sweetheart, you can start tomorrow morning, bright and early." Bonnie said, offering a snide smile. Her eyes flickered to Booth, and her smile widened. "And who is this handsome fellow?" She asked, flickering her eyelashes quickly. Brennan noted that one of her eyes seemed to blink slightly faster than the other, obviously a nerve defect, possibly from smoking too much. She wanted to make a comment about it, but instead looped her arm around Booth's.

"This is Buck," Brennan replied, holding out her hand to the waitress to showcase the engagement ring with a chip of a diamond in it. "He's my fiancé. That's French, you know?" She grinned, noting the other woman's glare, she could feel Booth's grip tighten slightly on her arm, before she settled back in her seat. "He's a mechanic." Brennan said, snapping her gum again.

"Chuck still looking for help?" Jed asked, chucking a thumb toward the service shop next door.

Bonnie shrugged at first, then reluctantly nodded, "With Jerry in lockup, Chuck's in a pinch for sure. But you knew that."

"I told that boy the next time he puffed the magic dragon I'd haul him in," Jed gave an apologetic shrug. "You know Mindy would have my ass if I didn't."

The waitress rolled her eyes at the mention of Jed and Jerry's uptight sister and her rebellious teenage son, but her posture relaxed and she started making friendly small talk with the newcomers; asking them where they'd come from and how long they were planning on staying. Booth and Brennan answered the questions with ease and after a few minutes Bonnie gave them a bright smile, telling "Wanda" she could report to work first thing the next morning, before turning her attention to some new customers.

"You passed," Jed told Booth under his breath with a sigh of relief.

"Is that a good thing?" Booth wondered out loud, playing with the brim of his cap that was keeping his phony mullet in place.

"Oh yeah," the other man assured him. He pointed to a man with greasy hair and even greasier hands who Bonnie was chatting away with now, "That's Chuck Norris. He owns this joint and half the town."

"When the Boogeyman goes to sleep every night he checks his closet for Chuck Norris." Booth chuckled with a knowing smile. Brennan threw him a confused expression, her brow furrowed.

"I... don't know what that means. Do you know that man?" she asked, turning the expression to the man across the diner, and then back to her partner.

"You're telling me that you know who the Duke is, but you don't know who Chuck Norris is?" Booth whispered back, sending a glare to Brennan when she nudged him with her elbow to pay attention to Jed again, instead of continuing their argument.

"The Norrises have been in this town for ages," Jed said, with a chuckle of his own. "Al, the oldest brother, runs the post office; Bill's manager of the bank, and baby brother Chuck owns this place, the dry cleaners, two used car lots, and the public pool. Get in good with him and you'll have an easy time of it."

Just then Chuck rose from his seat and lumbered toward them. He was maybe a few inches shorter than Booth, but his biceps rippled underneath his flannel shirt and the agent would bet money that nobody around here crossed him more than once.

A grin broke through his neatly trimmed beard and he extended a beefy hand to Brennan, "Miss Wanda, I'm Chuck Norris, it's a pleasure to meet you. Bonnie tells me your boy's a mechanic?"

"I am," Booth spoke for himself.

The man's gaze narrowed on Booth, "My car is squealing like a stuck pig. What do you think is the matter?" He said, his eyes on Booth with a steely glare.

"It could be the fan belt's loose or worn, and it'll probably need to be replaced..." He said, a grin sliding over his face. "Or ya drove through a barn on your way into work today."

With a single nod of approval, and a hint of a smile, the man extended a hand to Booth, "Welcome aboard, son."

B&B

About the time Bonnie Belle laid eyes on the newcomers in town, Dr. Jack Hodgins entered the Jeffersonian with just a little more swagger than normal.

"Okay," he announced his presence as he swiped his card at the steps and joined the cluster of Brennan's interns waiting for him there, "catch me up to speed."

"Well," Vincent was the first to speak up, "thus far with the x-rays we've identified ten heads, twenty femurs-"

"There are ten complete skeletons," Clark broke in with barely veiled annoyance.

"Well," the Englishman replied in a small voice, "yes, that's what I was saying."

Hodgins was just as happy not to have to sit through a full listing of the bones, but he had a soft spot for Nigel-Murray and he offered a small, grateful smile as he moved the conversation along, "Have we been able to separate them out into individuals sets of remains yet?"

Five heads wagged "no" and Hodgins took a deep breath, asking himself what Brennan would do in this situation. "Right, well," he cleared his throat, "There are ten of them and five of you so if you each piece together two we should be good."

"But, they're all jumbled from being in the barrels," Wendell pointed to the four stations of clean bones that had been stacked by type but not sorted according to owner.

"Ah, the bitter irony," Fisher said to no one in particular; and no one had any idea what he was talking about, so they all ignored him, making the melancholy intern wonder whether his presence in the lab had been missed at all.

Three and a half barrels of oil, however, were waiting for Hodgins to sift through and analyze so he didn't think he was asking too much of them and he knew he wasn't asking any more than Brennan would.

"Just think of this as a midterm," he looked each one in the eye. "Pass, and I let Dr. Brennan know how amazing you are. Fail and..." He let the threat dangle, knowing how desperately each one of them wanted Dr. B's favor and feared her wrath. "Alright then, I'm going to go check out some oil."

He whistled _The Beverly Hillbillies'_theme song, convinced he'd done a pretty darn good job of sorting things out.

"So, what exactly are we supposed to do?" Vincent asked as Hodgins retreated into his office.

"Start assembling the remains," Arastoo answered.

"Yes, but-" the younger man protested.

"We each take a barrel," Clark shrugged as if that should be obvious. "Barrel two's got four bodies, so two of you can handle that."

"Two of us?" Wendell looked offended. "What gives you the right to choose?"

"You get one of these blue coats," Clark looked down at his lab coat while waving a dismissive hand at the gray coats in front of him, "then maybe you'll get to call the shots one day."

Arastoo moved between Wendell and Clark, while Vincent shrank back at the violence, and Fisher wondered what some of his psychologists would think of this group's dynamic. There were a few tense seconds, but by then Wendell saw it really was the best way to break up the work, and the team of two people could probably get things done faster.

"Fisher and I'll take number two," Wendell said, then looked over at Clark. "That okay with you _Doctor_Edison."

Like rain off a duck, Clark shrugged off the comment and turned to claim a table for himself. One by one the others followed suit until nothing could be heard in the lab but the quiet clangs of bone against steel.

* * *

><p>"Two cluck and grunts, two dots and a dash, two mugs of dirty water, and a glass of moo juice." Brennan said, sliding the order sheet to the cook. The cook gave her an odd look for a moment, and then looked down at the order sheet. He chuckled to himself and turned to work on the order.<p>

She turned back around and nearly jumped when she saw Booth sitting across from her at the counter. She allowed a sly smile slip over her face. "Hey honey." She said, chomping on the gum in her mouth, she gave him a flirtatious wink.

"Two cluck and grunts?"

"It's diner lexicon." She shrugged, stepping closer to the counter, she leaned forward a bit and came nose to nose with him. "I learned about it while researching my role as a soup jockey." She replied with a smirk.

Booth let out an uncontainable laugh, closing his eyes for a second, he couldn't help but smile at her excitement. "Soup jockey, huh?" He shook his head, bemused. That was one thing he could always rely on Brennan for, she always took her undercover assignments head on. He leaned forward. Their noses were only inches apart, and he could feel the electricity sparking from his partner in her excitement but he forced himself to concentrate on the job, "Have you learned anything?"

"Besides that half of the people here are most likely suffering from heart disease, diabetes, or tooth decay caused by a lack of oral hygiene?"

"Big fat no, huh?" He asked, watching her eyes dance for a moment, though it was naturally broken by her gum snapping in her mouth.

"Have you gotten anything?" she asked, before going over to get him a glass of water so that it looked like she was doing something.

"The guys in the shop don't really speak but for the occasional grunt." Booth shrugged, taking a long swig of water. "It's only been a few hours, though," he said with a hopeful smile.

"Yes, but someone has to know something," she replied, looking around the diner. "I have to go take care of that table over there." She said, nodding toward the man with the bad haircut waving her over. "We'll just keep on talking to the locals. I'm sure we'll find something." She replied.

Closing the gap, she dropped a kiss on his lips. It was quick, but it surprised him. "Got to keep up appearances, sugar." She winked, snapped her gum, and walked quickly around the corner to attend to the customers.

Around two, everything finally slowed down enough for Brennan to go on her "lunch" break. Outdoor seating wasn't high on the truck stop's priority list but even the cracked stone bench on the side of the building felt better than nothing. She slipped off her shoes and rubbed her sore feet.

"Heels and diner work don't mix," Bonnie announced her presence, pointing down to the non-descript tennis shoes she had on her own feet.

Brennan nodded, not sure how she was supposed to respond.

"You know, you're doing better than I thought you would," the other woman gave her a weary smile. "For a newbie."

Brennan gave an embarrassed smile of her own, "Jed didn't-"

"Awe, look, Honey," interrupted Bonnie, "everyone in these parts knows Jed's got a heart of gold; 'specially when it comes to family."

"My last job wasn't nearly as physically demanding," admitted Brennan in an attempt to forge a bond with her co-worker.

"Eh, you're a quick study," Bonnie waved her off, digging into her pocket. "Wanna smoke?"

Brennan's first thought was to decline, but then it occurred to her that a smoke break might just serve as the perfect cover during those times she needed to communicate with the lab during the workday, so she nodded. Careful not to inhale the smoke into her lungs she mostly just held the cigarette while she and Bonnie continued to exchange small talk.

"Say, are you and your man coming to the derby tonight?" Bonnie asked, grounding her third cigarette into the ground with her heel as Brennan disposed of her first in the same manner.

"Derby?"

"The demolition derby over at the arena tonight," Bonnie's head bobbed up and down excitedly.

"We might be busy," Brennan hedged as they moved back toward the building.

"You should try and come," encouraged the waitress. "Whole town's gonna be there."

"Per- ah- maybe we will after all," amended Brennan smoothly.

"Great!" Bonnie seemed genuinely pleased. "Well," she held the door open for both of them, "back to the grind."

B&B

Hodgins poked his head out of the Ookie Room doorway and made sure the area was intern-free before stepping out the rest of the way.

They'd spent the morning interrupting him with one trivial question after another until he'd finally banned all of them from stepping foot in his office and told them that he would come to them when he wanted something. Angela had stood beside him the entire time, but as soon as the interns were out of earshot she'd reproved him, pointing out that Cam, and even Brennan, had managed to run things without banishing people. Reluctantly, he'd agreed, but he'd also been more than happy to let her be the one who went out and smoothed their ruffled feathers. He did, after all, have work of his own to do. Now, though, it was getting closer to six at night and time for him to face the music.

"What've we got, people?" Hodgins asked, adopting his most Cam-like tone as he joined them on the platform.

None of them said anything.

"Clark has been setting the tissue-depth markers for me," Angela boasted like a proud parent, "and it turns out Vincent, here, is great at doing puzzles so he's been handling all of the smaller bones, while Wendell and Arastoo handle the larger ones. Mr. Fisher's been taking bone samples for you to work up the osteology reports and tooth samples for odontology. Hopefully one of those will help us figure out where these poor girls are from."

"They're all girls?" Hodgins blanched.

"All female," Arastoo corrected. "All over the age of twenty, with the oldest between thirty-five and forty."

"Any obvious patterns?"

They could all tell what Hodgins was getting at and the tension in the room got a little higher.

"Not that we've noticed so far," Wendell was the first to speak up and shake his head. "Beyond the fact that they're all female."

Hodgins followed the younger man's gaze and for the first time took a look around at the tables jammed on the platform and surrounding area. Space was at a premium, but where before there had only been piles of bones, there were now ten neatly laid out skeletons.

"Right," Hodgins tried to think of something to say, "so, um, thanks and we'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning." A pointed look from his wife made him rush to add, "Good job, all of you."

* * *

><p>"Hodgins said the victims are all female," Brennan informed Booth, wrinkling her nose in slight distaste as he opened the door to the apartment that had been provided for them.<p>

In keeping with the couple's assumed socio-economic status, they had a very used car and their apartment was situated on the outskirts of town, in a building whose exterior had definitely seen better days. Inside, it wasn't much better. Paint was peeling off the walls in places and the carpet was faded and worn, not to mention the slight smell of cat urine that permeated the air.

"So it's probably just one guy," Booth plopped down on the couch, only to jerk forward in pain as a spring poked him in the back. "Anything else?" He asked, rubbing his back as he glared at the couch.

"He'd like us to collect various soil samples to compare with what he gleaned from the barrels," she informed him. "Apparently the soil on the sides differs from the soil on the bottoms. His hypothesis is the murderer rolled them along the ground near the original crime scene before dropping them off at the truck stop."

She went on to fill him in on what Angela and the interns had accomplished, all the while looking around and theorizing that the total square footage wasn't that much larger than just her living room back home. Booth took it all in, asking questions here and there when he required clarification, and when they'd covered everything he excused himself to clean as much of the grease as he could off of himself before they headed off for the derby.

Picking up her bags, Brennan carried them back to the lone bedroom, wincing as the door hinges screeched liked nails along a chalkboard. Carefully and precisely she loaded her belongings into one of the mismatched dressers.

The bed was already made, but to Brennan's relief, the bed itself was in good condition. She'd spoken privately with Scott Holt before leaving, emphasizing the importance of providing them with a mattress that would be comfortable for Booth's back. She made a mental note to thank him.

"Toilet handle is sticking," Booth announced as he entered the room with a towel around his waist and water droplets dotting his sculpted chest and midsection. "Shower pressure's crap too."

"How formal do you think this event is?" Brennan asked as she hung the remainder of her dresses up in the small closet.

"It's a demolition derby, not a cocktail party," Booth laughed, "I don't think you'll need to pull out the couture."

In the end she settled on jeans and a nicer blouse, though only after a long shower to wash the scent of fried food out of her hair. She also changed into more comfortable shoes. The ride out to the Augusta County indoor arena was interesting as their GPS kept losing the satellite signal, though once they got close enough they merely followed the line of traffic in.

The arena was larger than Brennan had expected, with vendors of all varieties lined up along the circular corridor that led to the stands and they milled around for a bit, collecting a soil sample from the hard, cold ground outside for Hodgins and then seeking out dinner for themselves. Their arms were laden with food by the time they meandered over to the stands to look for seats.

"Wanda!" Brennan looked up to her left to find Bonnie standing about mid-way up the bleachers, waving frantically for them to join her.

A swarthy man with two beady eyes shining from under his ball cap glared daggers at Brennan when she indicated they needed to move by him to get to their seats.

"Oh, don't mind Harve, he hates everyone," Bonnie told them once they'd worked their way through the long row and sat down. "It's no wonder too, with him keeping to the woods and all most of the year."

Brennan wanted to inquire further, but Bonnie had already switched topics and was introducing the man beside Booth as her husband, Tom.

Tom was a pleasant enough man who worked as a janitor at the school and was an ardent baseball fan.

"Who's your team?" he questioned Booth, as Bonnie pulled Brennan aside to tutor her on the finer points of a demolition derby.

"Philly," Booth replied with unabashed pride.

"Probably best," the other man nodded sagely. "Damn Orioles couldn't win a Little League game these days."

"'Nat's aren't much better," agreed Booth.

Tom snorted, "All them Washington people told us we would _love_their team if we gave 'em a chance but they haven't done anything. Least the O's have some history and once Angelos croaks they can pull themselves out of this rut."

A voice boomed over the loudspeaker, announcing the lineup of drivers all revving their engines at the starting line. Cheers erupted each time, some louder and longer than others. Brennan returned to sit next to Booth and for the next two hours they sat back and relaxed, soaking in the atmosphere and all in all enjoying the event. Now and then Bonnie would shout over and give them some inside info on who the drivers were and where they came from. It seemed she'd been correct in her statement that the whole town would be there and unbeknownst to her she was giving Booth and Brennan exactly the data they'd been craving all day.

B&B

"Okay, so I'm ruling out the ABC brothers," Booth spoke quietly to his partner the next afternoon as he sipped a coke and munched a burger while she rolled silverware for the dinner rush.

"ABC brothers?" Brennan yawned, not at all thrilled that her shift had started at six that morning, she glared at him as he chewed with his mouth open.

"Al, Bill, and Chuck," Booth said in between bites of his burger. "This morning when I got to the shop, nobody was around, so I went to Chuck's office. Chuck was talking with Al and Bill, really digging into them. He nearly burst a blood vessel when Bill asked what they were going to do about the mess from the spill." Booth said, taking another bite, not pausing as he continued to speak. "Apparently it's been a PR nightmare and the EPA is poking around trying to figure out why they were there in the first place."

"Must you really speak with your mouth full of food?" She asked, sliding his coke toward him.

He took a swig of the beverage and made a refreshed sound, setting the cup down on the counter. "It's all part of the cover." He said, taking her returning glare in stride.

"Did they see you?" she muttered out of the side of her mouth.

Booth shook his head and took another bite.

Brennan felt her phone vibrate inside of her apron and called out to Bonnie, "I'm grabbing a smoke! Be right back!"

The other waitress nodded, her smile morphing to a smirk as Buck shoved the rest of the food in his mouth and hurried after Wanda. "Kids," she sighed with a knowing smile.

B&B

While he was still sure the interns were out to drive him nuts, one perk that Hodgins did discover, was that Booth had unofficially left him in charge of Sweets and Turner too, and after filling Booth and Brennan in on the latest findings he was heading out on a field trip to the Hoover. As he passed through security and walked the halls to Sweets' office, the mere thought of all the government secrets and cover-ups these old walls contained was enough to make him giddy.

"You two decent?" he joked, as he entered to find the couple waiting for him.

"Very funny," Sweets replied dryly. "Why are we here?"

Hodgins considered drawing the teasing out but caught a look from Turner that made him think twice, so he sat down too, "So you know we ID'd the first body as Barbra Martin, right?"

The pair nodded.

"Barbra's from Lofton so Booth's getting the Sheriff to pick up one of her old boyfriends, who Dr. B claims is a real piece of work," Hodgins handed over the file from the background information on both the victim and the suspect that Angela had been able to pull.

"Harve Kreller," Sweets read the name aloud.

"He's the town recluse according to the one waitress Dr. B is working with," Hodgins explained. "Ex-Navy. Spends most of his time in the woods and the Sheriff says nobody knows exactly what he does."

"We can read, you know?" Turner grinned wryly. "Is Booth coming back for this?"

Hodgins shook his head, "They don't know enough to break cover yet, so the ball's in your court. Ange can set up the live feed so they can observe, but that's it. And we have to wait until they get off at six."

"The sheriff will probably get here around that time anyway," Turner said thoughtfully. "Anything else we should know?"

Hodgins shook his head, "This is pretty much a long shot, but it's all we have so far. We've got plenty of data but not a lot of answers, though as the facial reconstructions get finished we should start to get more hits."

Sweets and Turner thanked Hodgins for the information and spent the rest of the afternoon studying the case file and learning as much about Kreller as they could.

B&B

At six-fifteen, Sheriff Taylor escorted Harve into an FBI conference room where they were greeted by the young psychologist and an equally young FBI agent; neither one of them taking note of the heavy paperweight at one end of the table that housed Angela's web cam.

"Thank you for your time, gentlemen," Sweets began. "Do you know why you're here, Mr. Kreller?"

For a moment no one thought Harve was going to say anything until he finally nodded, answering in a gravelly voice, "Jed said y'all found Barbie in them oil drums at the Stop."

Sweets nodded, "I'm afraid that's true. Are you a frequent patron at 'The Truck Stops Here' Diner?"

"I eat there when I'm in town," the big man said with a shrug.

"Did Barbie eat there too?" Turner asked.

"She worked there since we was in high school," Kreller offered with just the faintest hint of nostalgia. "Said she was gonna run the place some day."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Sweets said sympathetically. "Do you know any reason why her body would've been stored in an oil drum there? Any reason for someone to want her dead in the first place?"

"I didn't kill her," the man's voice boomed, making Sweets jump a bit.

"Nobody's sayin' you did, Harve," Jed Taylor soothed him. "These folks wanna find out who did this to her, same as the rest of us do. They need to ask questions to do that."

"Sweets." Booth's voice rang in the psychologist's ear. "Make him mad at you."

"What?" Sweets whispered, turning toward the web cam.

"Make him mad at you. See what his reaction is, he doesn't have a record, but we don't know how he'll react if he's really enraged." Booth paused. "Turner is right there, she'll protect you." The humored undertone was obvious. Sweets tossed a steely glare at the camera before turning back to the suspect.

Sweets and Turner exchanged a look, and Sweets straightened in his chair. "Mr. Kreller, what happened between you and Barbie that caused you to break up?"

Harve sat up in his chair a little, eyeing Sweets with an angry glare. "We just were going in different directions. She had dreams, and I was content." He said, sounding almost wistful in his response.

"You loved her?" Sweets asked.

"Yes."

"And she just... up and left one day?" Sweets shrugged.

"That's right." Harve replied.

"Did she tell you she was leaving?Was there an argument?"

"Yeah. We argued some." He replied. "But it was her life, her choice to go!" Harve exclaimed.

"Sweets? I said make him angry, not make him cry." Booth muttered over the earpiece.

"You couldn't bear to see her go, could you?" Turner said, turning up the volume a bit, she leaned forward. "You saw her with her bag all packed and ready to go, and you weren't ready to let her go, isn't that right, Mr. Kreller?"

"I didn't kill her." He said, feeling a sense of anger building up.

"No, you didn't mean to kill her... but when you had her up against that wall, your hands over her throat, squeezing the life out of her body, You didn't even stop to think for a second! Did you?" Turner exclaimed.

"I didn't touch her!" Harve shouted. "I didn't touch her!" He screamed. "I don't know what happened! I don't know nothin' that'll help no one," Harve pulled his cap further down on his brow. "But she didn't deserve to die." He paused, his gaze burning into Turner's eyes. "Not like that."

From the bud in her ear, Turner heard Booth sigh heavily and tell her to turn Kreller loose. "Thank you for you time," was what she said out loud, waiting for a moment to calm her own nerves.

Once the sheriff and Harve had left and closed the door behind them Sweets switched the feed over to the main monitor on the wall.

"That didn't get us much," Booth frowned, running a hand through his hair. "Turner, I want you to dig up every scrap of info you can on Barbra Martin, including any articles that came out around the time she disappeared. Sweets, call Jed first thing in the morning and see if you can get him to remember anything else about Barbra's friends or enemies. I'm not ruling Kreller out yet, but I want all our bases covered. Hopefully the squints can start putting IDs on the rest soon."

B&B

A text came in from Hodgins the next morning as Brennan was clearing tables and she snuck a peek at it in the bathroom as soon as she could get free. Barbra Martin disappeared five years ago; when Harve Kreller was deployed overseas.

When Booth stopped by for lunch as had become his practice, she filled him in and watched him process the news.

"We'll figure this out," he promised her, smiling as she munched one of his fries.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, it didn't look like they were going to figure it out any time soon. It seemed like they'd hit a snag they just couldn't get free of. One day bled into the next and while they did identify all of the victims by the end of the third day and confirmed that they had all been strangled to death, that information didn't bring them any closer to finding their killer. Turner and Sweets had spent hours interviewing family members only to uncover that all ten women were all from different states, with different jobs, and had been passing through Virginia for different reasons. The only thing they had in common was where they'd been found and how they'd died.<p>

Meanwhile Booth and Brennan continued working their jobs as Buck and Wanda, collecting soil samples for Hodgins wherever they went, and joining Tom and Bonnie for various social events around town. The only positive thing Booth could say about the whole thing was that at least it was a good ten degrees warmer than the winter weather DC was being treated with. Brennan's initial zeal for undercover work was fading, and the longer they were gone, the longer she itched to be back at the lab poring over the remains for clues. X-rays and photographs were a poor substitute for being able to examine them in person.

"This is Wanda, the waitress, at the diner, waitressing," Brennan answered her phone on the tenth day of their undercover assignment, throwing a look around to make sure no one was eavesdropping as she slipped out the back door for some privacy.

"Hey, Dr. B," a very weary Hodgins on the other end answered with a little laugh at her antics. "I've got those soil sample results back from all the dirt around town that you've been sending and I think I found a match."

The prospect of a genuine break in the case caused her heart to quicken as she urged her colleague, "Go ahead."

"Right," she heard the ruffle of papers as Hodgins sifted through the data. "Well, the soil and particulates on the bottom of the barrels matched the samples you sent me from the truck stop-"

Brennan heard Bonnie open the back door and yell for her so she quickly pulled out one of her cigarettes, lit it, and waved it at Bonnie, who accepted the ruse and urged her to, "Hurry it up!"

"Is there something relevant you wished to share with me, Hodgins?" she passed along the urgency, knowing that the lunch rush would be picking up soon.

"Yes," an exasperated Hodgins bit out. "I mean, yeah, like I was saying, the soil from sample bag 3a is an exact match to the soil on the sides of the barrels. So wherever you got it from, that's where your killer is."

"Thank you, Hodgins, I'm sure that will be helpful," she said, trying to go through her mental list of where the samples were taken and how they were labeled. The cigarette in her hand was nearly burnt out, "I need to go, Hodgins."

And without further ado, she shoved the phone into her apron pocket and turned back to the diner. Sure enough the rush was in full swing and Bonnie was doing everything she could to keep up. With a hurried apology, Brennan dug her tablet from her apron pocket and began taking orders.

Though she was working diligently at the undercover task at hand, Brennan's analytical mind was working at full throttle. She was more than capable of doing more than one job at a time, and once inspiration hit, there was barely a moment of hesitation before she grabbed at the apron strings and gave them a strong yank. Soil sample 3a had come from the dirt clod off Harve Kreller's shoe.

She slammed the apron down on the counter, and Bonnie locked eyes with her. "Where do you think you're going, hon?"

"I need to find Buck." She said, scrambling for an excuse as she walked backwards toward the door. "He has... my... extra pack of cigarettes!" She exclaimed, floundering for words, before she ran from the diner. She nearly ran into Chuck Norris on her way out, and grabbed his arm. "Is Buck at the shop?"

"Buck is working at the end of the line on Charlie Renault's trailer. Way down..."

"May I borrow your vehicle?"

Chuck paused for a moment. "Well, sure, but I don't..."

"Thank you!" She exclaimed, grabbing the keys from Chuck, she ran for his pickup. She heard Chuck shout something after her, but she was far too involved in her pursuit to take a glance back. She quickly climbed into the driver's side, and started the old pick up truck. She reached for the gear shift, and nearly jumped when she saw that she wasn't alone in the truck. Sitting beside her was a lazy old basset hound, looking up at her with bloodshot eyes. Brennan scowled at her passenger and sighed, shaking her head as she slammed the truck in reverse, then back into drive, as she sped toward the truck on the far end of the line.

Gravel sprayed from the tires, and when she saw Booth, she slammed on her brakes, coming to a skidding stop.

"Wanda? What the hell are you..."

"Buck! Get in the truck!" She shouted, indicating the back of the truck. He ran up to the door and grabbed at the handle. "No, get in the back! There's no room up here!" She said, indicating the dog.

"You've got to be kidding me!" He exclaimed.

"We have to get to Kreller's! We have a break in the case!"

Booth nodded, and jumped into the back of the truck, just as Brennan slammed her foot on the gas, Booth nearly lost his footing, but managed to hang on with all of his strength, gripping onto whatever he could to keep himself from flying out of the back of the truck.

B&B

By some small miracle, Booth managed not to fall out as they raced down the back roads and finally along the twisted gravel path back through the woods. Booth was on the phone with Jed, getting directions on how to get to Harve's place and then Booth would relay them to Brennan  
>through the cab's back window. The dog slept peacefully.<p>

They came to the bottom of the driveway Jed had described and Brennan pulled just past it and eased the truck off the road between a few trees to shield it from view.

"Jed's on his way just in case we need backup," Booth said, hopping down from the truck bed onto unsteady legs and rubbing his cold arms to revive his circulation. "Where did you learn to drive like that, Danica Patrick?" He asked.

Ignoring his question, she started walking. They left the dog in the truck, and moved along as quietly as they could, the crunching gravel beneath them the only sound in the still air. The log cabin-style house was situated in the middle of a small clearing and was surprisingly well-kept. Along the front was a neatly landscaped flower bed and a few tasteful lawn ornaments dotted the yard. To the left of the house was an open shed, revealing a wealth of tools and a car that had been completely gutted.

The front door of the house swung open and Harve Kreller lumbered out menacingly, "Whatchu doin' here?"

"We have some questions for you," Brennan said boldly, ignoring Booth's protests as she moved a few steps in front of him toward Harve.

The burly man squinted at her, "Ain't you the new girl at the diner? The one who's s'pposed to be Jed's kin or somethin'?"

She recalled the two meals she'd served him when he'd come into town for supplies and she shook her head, again to Booth's frustration, "No. Well, yes, I've been working at the diner but I believe you've deduced I'm not related to Jed."

Harve lifted a shoulder and dropped it, "Don't explain why you're here."

"I believe you know that as well," Brennan said pointedly.

"I think you oughta leave now, little lady," Harve stood up to his full height and adopted a defensive posture. "Before something happens to you or your boy, there."

"Hey," Booth instantly moved between the big man and Brennan, tossing his wig to the side and pulling out his badge. He stopped before pulling his gun, he didn't want to scare Harve, "I'm with the FBI, buddy. You wanna mess with my partner, you go through me!"

"I answered your people's questions the other day," Harve replied belligerently, moving forward on Booth, he had no choice but to take a step back.

"But you lied," Brennan exclaimed, trying to walk around Booth's frame to confront the man again.

"Bones!" Booth threw his arms up in exasperation, praying to God that the man didn't have a gun hiding somewhere.

"He did, Booth."

"I know," Booth told his partner before turning to Harve. "We know you strangled those girls, stuffed them in those oil drums one by one and dropped your collection off at the truck stop by swapping out the barrels Chuck stored there."

Harve straightened, but refused to give up his guard, his mouth closed and he breathed heavily through his nose. "I didn't kill nobody." He stated strongly. "I didn't kill nobody!" He screamed, taking a step forward, Booth pulled out his sidearm.

"Don't move." He stated resolutely, taking a step back to give himself a little more space between he and Harve.

"The dog is barking." Brennan said suddenly, her eyes moving from the standoff as she took a step back toward the door.

"What? Bones, what are you talking about?"

"The dog. Chuck's dog... he's barking."

"So what? Dogs bark. Let's get this guy cuffed, and... Bones, where are you going?" He said, noticing her eyes never left the sound of the dog's barking, she stepped off the porch step. "Bones, don't wander off." He said, still holding his gun on Harve. He pulled his cuffs from his pocket and slammed them on Harve's wrist, swinging his arm behind him, he grabbed the other as Brennan moved to the side of the yard out of his line of sight. "Bones!"

He pushed Harve toward the porch steps. They stepped out onto the front lawn. Booth watched as Brennan walked toward the Basset hound, who was standing by a small outhouse shed a few yards from the main cabin baying loudly. "Bones, he probably just saw a raccoon or something."

"Maybe he knows something, Booth. Basset hounds have incredible senses of smell."

"Yeah, well, he's standing by an outhouse, I can only imagine the smells coming from it." Booth replied.

"Just let me-," whatever she was about to say was cut off as the door to the outhouse swung open in front of her, causing her to jump, but not giving her enough time to react. Before Booth could scream her name, a thick hand closed around her throat.

Booth threw Harve to the ground face first. "Stay!" He growled, running for his partner.

He didn't stop to think before he crossed the yard and threw his body onto the man strangling her. His hands released from her throat, and Booth planted his right fist in the man's jaw, as Brennan struggled to stand up. Knocked out cold, the man's body sprawled across the ground, as Booth turned his attention to his partner.

"You okay?" He asked in between heavy puffs of air.

"Yeah." She nodded, rubbing her neck. "You?"

His eyes flashed between the man on the ground beneath him, and Harve Kreller. "Much better."

Booth produced a second pair of cuffs and dragged Brennan's assailant back to the porch with Harve just as Jed's cruiser came roaring up the driveway, siren wailing. It cut off as Jed killed the engine and stepped out.

"I see you two found Harve's place alright," he commented dryly, taking in the scene.

"You know this guy?" Booth pointed to the unconscious man at his feet.

The sheriff narrowed his eyes and studied him for a long minute before looking back up at Booth, "Never seen him before in my life."

"Start talking," Booth addressed Harve.

For a moment it looked like Harve was going to close up on them again, but Brennan spoke up, "Is he related to you?" Harve swallowed hard, and she looked between the two men, her brow furrowed. "He looks to be a little younger than you. Is he your brother?" Harve nodded and Brennan turned to Jed and Booth, "Their facial structure is similar." She shrugged.

"I didn't know you had a brother, Harve." Jed said, looking to Booth, he shrugged.

"Nobody knows that I have a brother." Harve muttered softly.

"Okay, now that we have the whole reunion thing down. Start talking, Kreller. I am getting very impatient." Booth growled. "Why did your brother attack my partner?"

Harve sucked in a deep breath, looking up to the sky for a moment as if it would give him some kind of divine answer to his pleading glance. "Clive did it." He whispered.

"Clive did what?" Booth asked.

"Clive is the one that killed those women. He's a sick man, sir. He's a sick, sick man... He killed Barbie because he thought she was the one who sent me away. He didn't get it was the Navy."

"And the other women?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I... I caught him one day, trying to bury one of the bodies in the back yard. I was afraid that if I turned him in, he'd be institutionalized - that's why our folks never told anyone about him. So I just locked him up in one of the rooms in the cabin. But... every so often, a new body would surface. I couldn't figure out how he was getting out! I didn't know how to stop him!" Harve exclaimed. "I was the one that hid them in the drums. I was the one that dumped them... put them where I knew Barbie would be close to her dreams."

Harve looked at his brother as Clive's eyes fluttered open, staring up at his older brother with a dull, disconnected gaze. "I'm sorry, Clive," Harve apologized, a tear rolling down his cheek, then whispered, "I can't protect you no more."

B&B

It took another day to clear everything up and reveal everything to the townspeople. Bonnie took the news the best of the bunch, promising Brennan that if she ever got tired of the murder business she could move south and take up waitressing. Brennan promised to keep in touch.

That next weekend found them sitting beside one another at their own diner, speaking animatedly about the case with Max; whose interest in their work was almost as keen as his interest in their interactions with each other. Max found that while his daughter and her partner were romantically involved, there didn't seem to be much difference in their dynamic. A touch to the hand, perhaps that was a bit more intimate, or a knowing glance that held just a bit of deeper meaning, but nothing that would risk the important professional balance that his daughter and her partner maintained. He watched Booth send Brennan an amused look when she described some of the people she'd served at the diner, as the waitress stepped over to the table.

"I'll have cow feed, dry with a side of frog sticks, and a glass of city juice." Brennan said without a moment's hesitation, her eyes flickering to the two men at the table and enjoying the look of confusion on her father's face. The waitress nodded and wrote in the notepad in her hand. Noting that Booth wasn't about to jump in to make his order, she smiled at the waitress. "He'll have a C.B., hold the grass," she paused. "And a cup of dirty water, make it moo. Dad, do you want anything?" She asked, looking to her father. He stared at her for a moment and then back to the waitress.

"Um... no, no... I'm good," Max replied. "I was just going to get going, get out of town for a day or two." He shrugged, his eyes flickering to the waitress as she nodded and turned to put in the order for the partners.

"A day or two?" Booth asked, his tone incredulous.

"Maybe a week or two." Max shrugged.

Booth nodded knowingly, glancing to his partner. She seemed unaffected by Max's announcement.

"I'll give you a call in a couple of weeks, okay?" He said, standing up.

Brennan started to stand and Max took her hand. "You don't have to walk me out, sweetheart. Enjoy your lunch. I love you."

"I love you too, Dad." Brennan said, pausing for a moment before she sat down again. Max then held his hand out to Booth.

"Max." Booth nodded. "Stay out of trouble."

"As much as I can." Max promised, passing along a silent plea for Booth to make sure he took good care of his daughter. The silent agreement passed between them without another word, and Max turned for the door.

Brennan followed her father's figure with her eyes, until the waitress appeared with their orders, placing the plates in front of them as she smiled. They each nodded their thanks, and the waitress disappeared again behind the counter.

"Booth, do you think my father came to see me the other night because he thought that I would give him a job at the lab?"

"You think that Max thought that because Cam was gone, that you would be willing to give him a job at the lab, regardless of his past as a deserter?" Booth asked, noting the cringe at his final word. "I think that anything is possible with Max, Bones. Though it could always just be as simple as him wanting to work closer to you again."

Her eyebrow lifted slightly. "You often confuse me with your defense of my father's actions, Booth."

"Sometimes it's just easier to give people that we love the benefit of the doubt."

"Even if they're doomed to hurt us again?"

He closed his hand over hers, feeling his fingertips curl around her hand, he squeezed it lightly. "Relationships are about sacrifice, even if you have to sacrifice yourself just a little bit to show that person that you'll always be there."

"I find that to be very difficult," She said, giving him a sideways look, their eyes locked for a moment. "But I think that I understand."

A slow smile crept up onto Booth's lips, and his eyes twinkled. "That's one thing I can always count on from you, Bones."

"What is that?"

"You're always up for the challenge." He grinned, as the partners shared a laugh.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us again next week when the body of a missing girl is discovered in a trunk on a dark, lonely road, causing Booth to be assaulted by long-buried feelings about his parents while Brennan does her best to be supportive in The Bump in the Road by Squinttoyou and NatesMama.<strong>_


	13. The Bump in the Road

Season 6.5x13: The Bump in the Road - Written by NatesMama & Squinttoyou

"We're here, in the heart of the Wash Woods, a dark and ominous stretch of land in Northern Virginia, famed for being haunted by hundreds of immigrants who died in a shipwreck in the early 18th century."

"Dark and ominous?"

The narrator stopped and rolled his eyes at his cameraman, who was looking at him with a cocked eyebrow and a dubious expression, camera sitting sideways on his shoulder. "Man, I'm trying to set a _tone_, here!"

"A tone? Really, Mike?"

"Man, Bobby…seriously." Mike jumped from the back of their late model pickup and slapped the side of the truck in frustration. "We're never going to get this show on TV if you keep questioning my moves." He leaned on the sideboard and ran a frustrated hand over his goateed face. "I thought you wanted to be famous, man."

"Yeah, yeah…but this?" Bob shook his head ruefully and half-grinned. "It's kind of stupid."

With a sigh, Mike ran out of steam. "I know. Shit." He slapped the truck's bumper as he walked around the back, moving to the driver's side door. He stopped, door open, and regarded his buddy, still sitting in the bed of the truck. "So, what do you suggest we do?"

Glad to be rid of the cumbersome camera, Bob set it back in its case and rolled his shoulders. "I say we get the hell out of this creepy-ass place and go find some food. I'm friggin' starved."

"Yeah, sounds good. Hang on!" Mike swung his large frame into the truck and unceremoniously started the engine, slamming on the gas and sending Bobby flying to the back of the truck, legs flying in the air.

"Mike!" He screamed from his back, "You douche! Stop the goddamn truck!"

Laughing at his friend's attempts to pull himself to a sitting position, Mike pushed the gas pedal down harder and glanced in the rearview to watch the show. Bob's screaming and cursing only made him laugh harder, and his attention was completely focused on the fun behind him when the truck hit something in the middle of the deserted road with a large thump and a screeching of metal on pavement.

"Pull over! Pull over, you ass!" Bob grabbed the side of the truck, white-knuckled, trying not to fly backwards towards the cab when Mike slammed on the breaks. "You hit something, moron!"

Mike threw the truck in park and jumped out, all evidence of mirth wiped from his suddenly-pale face. "M-maybe it was an animal."

"You didn't see it?" Bob asked, incredulously. "That's what you get for screwing with me, dude."

Turning his attention to the road behind them, Mike released a breath of relief. "Look, it's a box or something."

Bob jumped out of the back of the truck and joined Mike as they jogged a short way down the road, where a beaten-up trunk was turned on its side, latch hanging broken from the intricate lid.

"Whoa. That's a really nice trunk."

Mike rolled his eyes. "What, so now you're an expert on trunks?"

"No, you idiot. You hit it head-on and it didn't disintegrate! Any other trunk would have blown to pieces." He brushed a hand over the cracked lock. "This was made to take a beating."

Mike acknowledged Bob's observation with a short nod, and then crouched down to pull the latch back on the lid. "Well, let's see what was so important they had to store it in this behemoth."

Flipping the latch open and pulling the lid back, both men wrinkled their noses at both the sound of rusted metal screeching and the musty smell that emanated from the large trunk.

"Is that a doll?" Bob asked, leaning forward on his haunches.

Mike pointed at the red-haired child's toy and nodded sickly. "Yeah. That's a doll. But that…" He directed Bob to the other contents of the box, the white of the bones standing out in the inky blackness of the night.

"That is most definitely not a doll."

B&B

Booth waited as Brennan caught up to him at the entrance to the Jeffersonian, and then held the door as she continued to be distracted by whatever she was rummaging for in her bag. Once inside, they walked side-by-side down the corridor leading to the lab.

"Hey, I meant to thank you for what I saw in your freezer last night, Bones." He ran his hand down her arm affectionately. "You didn't need to do that."

"What, the steaks?" At Booth's nod, Brennan shook her head. "Booth, you regularly stock your refrigerator with fresh vegetables and you purchase the dried fruit snacks I enjoy, it was nothing for me to reciprocate the gesture."

He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to her temple as they reached the sliding doors to the lab proper. "All the same, I appreciate it. And you bought me Tasty Kakes, Bones. Now that's love."

With a tiny, lopsided grin, Brennan bumped Booth's shoulder with her own. "Well, I do love you. And although I disapprove of your insistence on the regular consumption of those preservative-laden snack foods, I have to admit…" She looked around sheepishly as they entered her office. "The Peanut Butter Kandy Kakes are very delicious."

"Thata girl!" Booth laughed. "Nothing wrong with being bad once in awhile, is there?"

Brennan dropped her bag beside her desk and began booting up her computer. "Not if it involves peanut butter and chocolate, no. There is not."

Booth smirked at her confession and plopped down on the sofa, preparing to go over the witness notes he was given from the local Virginia PD who had caught their latest case first. Just as he flipped open the first page, Vincent Nigel-Murray knocked tentatively at Brennan's office door, looking for all the world as if he would rather be anywhere but right there at the moment.

"Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan…forgive the intrusion, but the bones are ready for your examination." He twisted his hands together nervously, shooting surreptitious glances at Booth, who assumed a mock-scowl at the young intern.

"Thank you, Mr. Nigel-Murray. Begin the initial assessment and I will join you shortly. Be prepared with your first impressions." Brennan turned back to her laptop, effectively dismissing the young student.

Vincent gratefully high-tailed it back to the relative safety of the platform, silently repeating random facts to himself as he took the stairs and started his examination in earnest. Booth watched the kid practically run off, smirking to himself. The smile disappeared when Brennan cleared her throat and glared.

"Booth, quit trying to intimidate my interns."

He shook his head. "No, Bones…not all your interns, just that one." He specified, pointing out towards the platform where Vincent had begun his inspection of their latest victim. "After the other night, can you blame me?"

Sighing heavily, Brennan stood and moved to her bookshelf, pulling the tome she was looking for with a glance at the obviously incensed agent on her sofa. "That was not Mr. Nigel-Murray's fault, Booth. We never should have been engaging in intercourse in the lab."

"We weren't-" Booth held up his fingers in the universal sign for quotes. "'Engaging in intercourse'. We were having a quickie in your office. A very hot, very sexy quickie…until the English squintern there ruined it."

Brennan shook her head. "Mr. Nigel-Murray did not interrupt us, Booth. He simply…heard us."

"That's worse!" Booth suppressed a shudder.

Brennan smirked. "So, you're saying that the experience was…less than satisfying, knowing that someone else overheard our vocalizations during our rendezvous?"

"Ugh. You know what I mean, Bones. Of course it was satisfying…that's the problem! Any more satisfying and Egyptology, two wings over, would have heard us!"

Brennan crossed the office and perched herself on the coffee table facing him. "Would you like me to temper my vocalizations during lovemaking from now on? Would that help?"

Leaning forward, he let his eyes slide up her body from feet to head. "I want you…" He smirked slightly, "…to feel free to say anything you like, as loudly as you like." She tilted into him, letting her eyes close slightly, a soft smile crossing her lips. Just as she could feel his breath ghosting her cheek, he sat up abruptly and stood, pulling her with him.

"And that is why we can't do it in your office anymore."

"Booth!" Brennan huffed, pushing him away and practically running for the protection of her desk. She glared at him as he moved to lean against her office doorway, trying not to grin.

"Sorry, Bones. I couldn't help myself." He gave her a little wave. "I have to head into the office for a bit. Lunch later?"

She sighed. "Fine. If I'm done with the examination of the remains."

"Call me with updates." He waved again was gone before Brennan could respond.

Brennan dropped into her chair and turned her laptop so she could better see it. "Incorrigible." She muttered, and settled into work.

* * *

><p>After waiting for what she felt was adequate time for her student to glean his initial findings Brennan exited her office. Her steps were quick and purposeful and she traipsed lightly up to the platform. "Please begin, Mr. Nigel-Murray," she ordered as she retrieved a set of gloves from her pocket and pulled them on.<p>

"Ah, yes…right," Vincent answered throwing a nervous look her way and then visibly relaxing when he realized she was not giving him the same treatment as Booth. "Very little of what appears to be perimortem damage to the body," Vincent began as he concentrated on the victim. "The fracture of the C-three is, as you noted on your initial examination Dr. Brennan, the likely cause of death. Pelvic measurements and skull configuration confirm she is female. Nearly complete fusion of the skull indicates an age range of eighteen to twenty-two. Whilst there are no obvious signs of additional trauma or assault at the time of death, there are additional fractures that bear closer examination."

"At least we know she wasn't assaulted," Angela said with some relief.

"No, but they weren't kind," Hodgins continued. He looked at Brennan for permission to continue and then spoke after her slight nod. "I'm getting indications of decomp in the fabric lining of the trunk. She was in there for a long time, and she was put there right after it happened." He saw Angela shiver at that and he reached over to take her hand.

"If you are all standing around like that we either have a case or you are discussing how much you miss me."

The group turned as one and stared in surprise at Cam. "What are you doing here?" Hodgins blurted out.

"I work here, Dr. Hodgins," she reminded him with a warning in her voice. "I'm the boss, remember?"

"Cam, you aren't supposed to be back for weeks yet," Angela scolded.

"I had that option; I'm choosing not to exercise it." She looked at Brennan as if expecting a challenge. "Anyone have a problem with that?"

Brennan shook her head. "Welcome back, Dr. Saroyan."

Cam blinked away her surprise. "Thank you, Brennan."

"Well I do!" Angela objected when no one else would. "Cam, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes, absolutely," the coroner responded. Angela raised an eyebrow to announce her disbelief, but she refrained from saying more. Cam took a deep breath and then clapped her hands. "Ok, people. I heard dead girl in a trunk. What else do you have for me?"

"I've got very little to work with," Hodgins complained resuming his report. "I'll go over the inside of the trunk carefully, but the most I'm likely to find are dead dust mites."

"One thing we do have is the manufacture of the trunk," Angela reported. "I was able to enhance the label, it was faded but legible. I sent it to Turner so she could work on it while I get busy with the reconstruction."

"Speaking of," Vincent said with an inquiring look at Brennan. "With your permission, Dr. Brennan?" She nodded and he carefully picked up the skull from the table where the full skeleton was laid out. "I'll have the markers set as quickly as possible, Angela," he said as he moved away carrying the head.

Brennan stepped to the table and her intense gaze announced she was already analyzing what she saw. "This may take a while," she muttered to herself.

Angela took the prompt, "What will, Sweetie?"

"The damage inflicted by the impact of the collision will make it more difficult to isolate those injuries directly related to her death."

"Good thing she has you to figure it out," Angela answered and Brennan lifted her head to give a brief nod of appreciation.

The room was silent for several moments as each team member worked at their own project. The quiet was interrupted by Angela as she reached into one of the many pockets sewn into the lining she and Hodgins were examining. "Oh, that's a waste," she sighed.

"What is?" Brennan asked looking up with concern.

"There was a doll in the trunk," the artist explained holding up a weathered wooden doll with a thick mop of hair. "My aunt Sofie had a doll like this. It's a Shirley Temple doll. If this hadn't been sitting in a trunk for sixty years it would be worth quite a bit of money."

"I have always believed that answers are worth more than money," Brennan said as her eyes dropped back to the victim.

B&B

Sitting in his office, Booth rested his elbows on the desk top and cradled his head in his hands. He was tired, but considering the fact that Brennan's considerable libido was the reason he was operating on three hours of sleep, he couldn't find it in him to complain. With a deep breath and a grin, he grabbed his phone and put in a call to his friend Shannon in the Philly office.

"Special Agent Shannon MacFarland."

He smiled at the still-heavy Kentucky twang of his former obstacle course partner from his days at Quantico. "Hey, Sha. Booth here."

"Well, well, well…Special Agent Booth. To what do I owe the absolute pleasure?" He could clearly hear the smile in her voice.

"Well, you know…got a case that might have some connection in your area. A set of skeletonized remains were found on a country road in Virginia in a trunk made by Bains and Sons of Philadelphia. I can't find a thing on them, aside from the fact that they used to make high-end luggage."

Agent MacFarland clicked her teeth together, thinking. "Yeah…that name sounds kinda familiar. Give me five, Booth." He heard her set the phone down without putting him on hold, then the tell-tale clicking of the computer keys as his colleague ran a local search in her database. "Yeah, here it is. Went out of business in the Sixties, but they were definitely the luggage to have if you lived on the Main Line. Bains passed away, one of the sons is still alive. He's almost a hundred. There was a pause. "Oh, and the trunks in good condition are worth thousands of dollars."

"Damn." Booth breathed. "Too bad this one was beat up by a pickup truck."

"That's a damn shame, Booth." MacFarland sniffed. "Now, why don't you tell me why y'all are calling about something I know you coulda looked up yourself."

The agent on the other line would have rolled her eyes at Booth's charming grin. "Aw, you know me, Sha. I can't work a computer to save my life."

"Booth…" Her voice held a playful warning.

"Alright, alright." He laughed. "I just wanted to give you there a head's up, so this didn't turn into an inter-office pissing contest. Just in case the vic turns out to be a local, you know?"

"Any reason why you feel the need to hold onto this one?"

Booth nodded, despite the fact that Shannon couldn't see it. "My partner is the best there is at identifying remains that are in this condition. I'd hate for us to go through all that work and then have the locals take it from us, you know?"

MacFarland laughed. "Well, that was honest. And don't worry, everyone here knows about you and your partner being the Dream Team. I doubt there's an agent out there'd try and take a case from y'all."

"Well, that's not true and you know it, but thanks just the same, Sha."

"Yeah, the thing about being the best is that you always gotta watch your back."

"Ain't that the truth. But thanks, Sha. I appreciate the help with this." Booth tapped his pen against the edge of the desk, ready to wrap the conversation up and get started on the case, even without the vic's name.

"Anytime, Booth. Let me know how it turns out."

"You bet. Bye." He hung up the phone and grabbed his jacket, hoping to get Brennan to head out for lunch, even without an ID.

"Yeah, good luck with that, Booth." He muttered to himself as he headed for the elevators.

B&B

"Dr. Saroyan, I have some things for you…" Brennan's words trailed off as she realized something was wrong.

Cam jumped and straightened from the position her body had been bent into over her desk. "What can I do for you, Dr. Brennan?"

There was a glistening in Cam's eye that clearly showed she had been crying and Brennan stepped further into the room. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Brennan," Cam answered far too quickly. "Was there something you need?"

"Just some paperwork; items you will need to address now that you are back." She held out the files and as Cam closed the distance between them to take them from her she studied her fellow scientist. Brennan's eyes were sharp and her attention to detail legendary, but those skills were not needed to see the pain Cam was feeling. "Cam, your presence here is not required."

The pathologist's head snapped up. "I said I was fine."

"That is clearly a lie," Brennan answered with her usual bluntness.

Cam stared into the steel blue gaze and after only a moment sighed. "It's harder than I thought," she admitted.

"As I stated, your presence is not necessary. The lab is operating with sufficient productivity in your absence. Even with Dr. Hodgins in command we were able to work efficiently."

"Maybe I shouldn't bother to come back at all."

"That was not my intended message," Brennan assured her.

"I know, Brennan, I was trying to make a joke. It wasn't a very funny one." She stood straight and squared her shoulders. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. I'll take those," she said, finally divesting Brennan of the files.

"Very well," the anthropologist answered.

"Where are we on the case?" she asked, trying to refocus her attention.

Brennan moved on as if nothing had transpired. "I have concluded my examination and have confirmed that a broken c-three vertebra is the cause of death."

"A broken neck," Cam mused. "There's only so many ways to get one of those. Any sign of strangulation?"

"Without flesh that is difficult to ascertain," Brennan admitted and Cam fought the urge to comment on the admission. "But given the data available, I find that an unlikely scenario. I have assigned Mr. Nigel-Murray the task of identifying all postmortem fractures. Once complete it will allow us to eliminate possible causes and more clearly recreate the circumstances of her death."

"As always, very thorough Dr. Brennan, thank you."

Brennan accepted the compliment without comment. "I'm meeting Booth for lunch. I'll keep you informed if we discover something new," she said as she turned for the door.

Cam waited for Brennan to leave and then sat again behind her desk. She stared at the files in her hand for several long moments before finally tossing them onto her desk. Reaching for her phone she dialed quickly. "Nicole, hi it's Dr. Saroyan again. I know I just called to check on him five minutes ago, but…"

B&B

"Come on," Angela whispered as she hit the enter button and took a bite of her lunch. It was like playing Vegas slots to watch the Angelatron search through the new parameters she had input and she waited in anticipation. Images rolled across her screen, lost faces, forgotten victims, the unfound who waited for resurrection. Brennan's collaboration with the FBI gave the team access to many crime databases but the images that passed now were not the digitally recreated victims of modern cases. Instead Angela searched police sketches and stiffly posed black and white photographs. Brennan had estimated the remains had been lying in the trunk between sixty to eighty years meaning this case would be colder than their usual. That estimation cross referenced with Booth's information regarding the trunk and Hodgins' dejected admission that there was no insect activity on which he could make an estimate meant she was accessing lists of victims she never searched.

It was a slower search than normal. Without the quick reference points of modern identification techniques the computer had more factors to consider, but as her sound system played the third rock classic on her playlist a file appeared on screen. Angela tapped the volume control and turned down Petty's strident guitar as she read the description of the young woman listed in the old case report. Her eyes widened and a tiny whisper of sadness slipped between lips as she read the details. The more she read the more convinced she became that this was the girl now lying on Brennan's exam table. She opened a new search window and typed the victim's name. Instantly a face appeared framed above by a bold front page headline of a forties-era newspaper declaring MISSING and below with the caption 'Heiress believed to have met foul play'.

Tossing away the second half of the sandwich Brennan had brought her from the diner Angela scrambled toward her office door. The urge to announce her findings overwhelmed her patience and as she stepped out into the lab she simply called out her success. "I found her!" Heads around the lab lifted in surprise and she began to wave her arm at her shocked colleagues. "Come on, you're going to want to hear this," she called as they began to move her direction. "It's juicy," she added for her own ears.

It took only a few minutes for the team to set aside their own research and gather in Angela's office but it was long enough for her to have the details ready to share. "Claire Hamilton-Pomeroy," she announced as the newspaper once again appeared on the Angelatron. "She disappeared without a trace on April 14, 1941."

Brennan stepped away from Booth's side and approached the monitor looking carefully at the picture of the young woman dressed for an evening on the town. She nodded in agreement as she confirmed the face there matched the bones on her table. "If this is a front page newspaper story it would appear she was someone of some note?" she asked, turning to Angela.

"Claire was the darling of the Philadelphia social scene. I haven't had time to read through everything yet, but her disappearance was more than a local mystery, it was covered as a national news event. As an heir to the Pomeroy Textiles fortune she was one of the wealthiest debutants of the day."

"Hey! I know this one!" Hodgins exclaimed as soon as he heard the company name. "J. Edgar ran the FBI investigation himself."

Booth groaned. "Don't tell me this is one of your conspiracies. What, the FBI killed her?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it past the old cross-dresser," Hodgins drawled. "No, Hoover was buddies with Jameson Pomeroy, the vic's grandfather. He bent over backwards to find her, threw everything the Bureau had into solving it, but they got nothing." His eyes were sparkling and he began to pace with excitement. "Man, my old man would kill to be here for this," he exclaimed in a rare reference to his father. "This was big! She disappeared in the forties and it was still hot gossip when I was a kid."

"Why the intrigue?" Cam asked.

"Mostly because the accepted truth was that she didn't come to a foul end. Being murdered is far less scandalous than the rumors. The way my dad told me, the story was that Claire had the audacity to fall in love with a commoner. Her family objected, of course, and the resulting drama is fairly predictable. It's the kind of story my father used to use to emphasize the opinion I was supposed to have about class distinctions," he added with derision. "Anyway, when the FBI couldn't find her, even with J Edgar on the case, everyone assumed she had just run off with 'that boy from the wrong side of the tracks'."

"Who was the boy?" Angela asked clearly swept up in the same romantic fervor as her husband.

"I don't know. The name of some kid with no money isn't exactly a detail my family would have bothered to remember. I would imagine it's in the files somewhere though. I can guarantee her family started pointing fingers his direction the moment she went missing."

Angela turned including both Cam and Brennan with her comment. "I'll start digging through the news articles and the FBI reports. It's a long shot, but maybe I can find something someone missed or at least find a name for her mystery man."

"Thanks, Angela," Brennan answered while Cam nodded as if she was only vaguely listening. Brennan turned to her partner. "Booth, with this information we should be able to locate a family member with firsthand knowledge of the disappearance." Booth didn't acknowledge her words instead turning for the door with a look of deep concentration. "Booth?" she called after him.

Brennan barely caught Booth before he exited the lab, her cries of his name going unheeded. "Booth, dammit! Stop!"

He finally wheeled around, one eyebrow cocked. "What is it, Bones? I need to get back to the office now that we have an ID."

Brennan was taken aback for a moment. "Were-um, were you going to say goodbye? You just…" She shook her head. "Is something wrong, Booth?"

"I…I have a lot on my mind, okay? Just let it go, and I'll call you later." He turned to leave again, prompting Brennan to grab his arm and jerk him back. "Jesus, Bones! Take it easy!"

"No! You would never, ever let me get away with that vague explanation! Something is obviously bothering you, Booth. I thought…" Her voice caught, and her weakness angered her slightly. "I thought that being in a relationship meant that we talked about things when they were bothering us."

Booth sighed, even more agitated because he knew, deep down, that she was right. "Just…can we not talk about this now? When I get some info on whatever is left of the Pomeroys, I'll give you a call and we'll head to Philly. Alright?"

"Booth…"

He turned and waved his hand behind him, walking through the sliding glass doors of the lab. "Not now, Bones. Let it go." Then, he was gone.

Brennan stared at the empty space where Booth had been standing for over a minute before she shook herself back into reality and turned to go back to Angela's office, trying to put Booth's brush off out of her mind and get back on the case.

* * *

><p>"I printed two copies," Turner said as she reentered Booth's office. "Here you go, Boss." She handed him a copy of the file in question and then took a seat across from him. "The Bureau's come a long way," she<br>noted with amusement. "Some of these case notes are pretty laughable."

"This was a long time ago."

Turner's head lifted a bit shocked at his surly tone. "Yeah, like I said we've come a long way. You ok, Boss?"

Booth looked up and his hard gaze announced he was not happy with her question. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"What, are you trying to act like Sweets now? I said I was fine. And even if I wasn't, Agent Turner, it's none of your business."

"Yeah, ok," she agreed, dropping her eyes back to the case file. They worked, the room filled with awkward silence but eventually the younger agent spoke. "The boyfriend was the prime suspect, but he had a rock hard alibi for the day she disappeared."

"Yeah, I doubt he did it."

"Really? Why so sure?"

"Just a gut call," Booth answered tersely. He felt like a heel when he saw Turner flinch from his harsh tone. Pushing aside his own turmoil he tried to focus on the investigation. "Tell me what you see," he ordered gently.

Turner relaxed and a tiny grateful smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she recognized his unspoken apology. Looking down at the file she flipped through several pages as she put her thoughts in order. "What I see is a pretty thorough investigation given the standards of the day. They did the work, there just wasn't anything to find. It really is like she just vanished into thin air."

"Yeah, except that's impossible," Booth answered. "We've got advantages they didn't have back then so let's use them. I want you to start all over," he ordered. "Forget the file, throw it out and start from scratch; treat this like a brand new investigation. Work it up and then come back to me when you find something new."

"Yes, Sir," she answered, popping to her feet. "I'll get right on it."

"Turner," Booth called as she reached the door. She turned expecting a final order and he surprised her. "Thanks."

"Yes, Sir," she replied and then promptly left.

B&B

"Your findings, Mr. Nigel-Murray," Brennan demanded as she neared the exam table.

"As you requested, I have catalogued the postmortem fractures incurred during last night's unfortunate run-in with the 'ghost chasers'," the intern began with confidence. "The damage along the anterior axillary line quite clearly shows the impact with the vehicle caused the remains to slam into the side of the luggage. There are various other breaks as well including damage to the carpals, metacarpals and metatarsals. Oh!," he added smiling boastfully, "And I also discovered a previously unidentified perimortem chauffer's fracture…"

"What?"

Brennan snapped so quickly and forcefully that Vincent was shocked into silence. He mentally scrambled through his report making certain that every word had been precisely accurate. He could find nothing amiss and he gaped at her mystified as to why she was so upset with him. "Dr. Brennan?"

Shaking her head Brennan pushed him aside and bent over the body. She examined Claire's right hand carefully and then shook her head again. "There is clearly staining of the periosteum. A Chauffer's fracture has a very specific signature."

Vincent failed to realize she was speaking to herself and he responded. "Well, yes that is how I identified it," he boasted. "It would be my conjecture that she fell," he held out his hand demonstrating the angle at which her arm would have been held, "And when her palm struck the ground the bone fractured."

"I know that!" Brennan snapped.

Vincent fell silent again but his head cocked slightly. "Dr. Brennan, if I have given offense in any way I apologize," he said sincerely. "I realize Agent Booth is quite vexed with me and you would have every right to feel the same way. Please accept my humble regrets."

His words hit Brennan like a splash of cold water and she took firm hold of her tumultuous emotions. She was upset, but not with her intern and it was patently unfair of her to express her discontent with Booth in this manner. This was something she had feared before. Losing perspective, letting her feelings for her partner affect the work, were actions she could not allow. They were the reason she had resisted the truth for so long, but it was too late to go back now. She loved him too much to refuse what they shared and so she must learn to protect the work. She would work harder at that. Reaching out she touched Vincent's shoulder in approval. "I am not vexed with you, Mr. Nigel-Murray. I am angry that I did not note that break on my own. Yours was excellent work, it was mine that was lacking."

"That's not possible, Dr. Brennan," he argued.

Brennan's chin lifted defiantly. "Yes it is."

B&B

"Ok, I have details," Angela announced as she entered the exam room where Brennan was going over the body with renewed attention to detail. She had Cam in tow and turned to physically pull the coroner into the room. Cam was texting and never looked up from her phone. Angela looked at the anthropologist bent over the remains and then to the new mother checking in with the nanny and she rolled her eyes. "I'll just talk, you two listen if you can."

"I'm listening, Ange," Brennan promised. Cam grunted agreement.

"The boyfriend's name was Toby Ingalls. He was twenty-two, a cute little Scottish lad with killer eyes and a surprisingly sexy smile. His father owned a small drug store in Claire's neighborhood and Toby worked there presumably to learn the family business. It was the all American dream, the boy from South Philly works hard, builds a clientele among the more affluent and creates a future for his family. The press vilified him of course, but according to Turner the FBI could account for his whereabouts the entire night Claire disappeared. They didn't want to, but they cleared him fairly easily."

"Sad story," Cam murmured as she read the response to her text.

Angela sighed and kept on talking. "I've been concentrating on the news stories from the disappearance, but when I expanded my search I got a much more recent hit."

Brennan's eyes did lift at that and she spoke with interest. "How recent?"

"Jacob Pomeroy was Claire's paternal uncle. He passed away a few weeks ago. He lived on the family's country estate, kind of an eccentric old recluse. The house set on property adjacent to Wash Woods."

"That's the location of the remain's discovery," Brennan stated unnecessarily.

Angela nodded. "Pomeroy may have been member of the elite, but he didn't manage his expenses well. Most of his estate was headed for auction. One of the auctioneer's trucks had a mechanical issue in transit and stopped in the woods. My guess is the trunk was lost somewhere along the route."

"Hey! There you are!" Hodgins said as he entered. "Oh good, you're all here. I found something!"

"Spectacular," Cam said eyes still on her phone as her fingers tapped a message.

"It is when you consider how little I had to work with," Hodgins answered in offense.

"I'm impressed, Babe," Angela said reaching out to stroke his arm. "What did you find?"

"Manure, straw, alfalfa and a raw grain, probably oat," he listed proudly. "Claire died in a barn."

"Are you certain the particulates are indicative of the scene of death," Brennan asked standing straight and dismissing her examination for the moment. "The trunk could have been stored in such a location and the particulates collected over time."

Hodgins was shaking his head. "What am I, an intern? I pulled matching particulates from the shoes and your fractured vertebra. She definitely picked them up at the time of death."

Brennan was circling the body mentally reviewing the details of her findings before she made her statement. Angela jabbed her elbow into Cam's ribs and the coroner looked up. Recognizing what was happening she focused on the anthropologist. "What is it, Brennan?"

"She fell," Brennan answered with certainty. "Given the force necessary, she was likely pushed. She tried to break her fall," she continued holding out her hand just as Vincent had demonstrated earlier. "But, her hand fractured and she failed to halt her progress. Her neck took the impact and death was instantaneous."

B&B

Her second examination of the remains completed with strict diligence, Brennan then turned her attention to the information Angela had found. The wild accusations and lurid suggestions the artist had dredged up in the news meant little to her, but she studied the information knowing it was important to their investigation; not as important as her findings, but useful to her partner. She stood next to Cam as Angela brought up story after story regarding Claire's disappearance and tried to make sense of the speculation.

"Is that the sister?" she asked when the smiling face of a small girl appeared on screen.

"Yes, Emmeline," Angela reported. "She won't look like this when you interview her this afternoon. She was just a little girl when her sister disappeared."

"Children can be quite observant," Brennan said hopefully.

A knock at the door caused all three women to turn where they found Booth in the doorway. "You ready?" he asked gruffly.

Brennan nodded without speaking and walked briskly toward him. He stepped back and she brushed by him without a touch or a look and hurried toward her office to gather her bag and jacket. Booth watched her walk away still wearing the scowl that had yet to leave his face, after she disappeared from sight he turned away. Stuffing his hands in his pocket as he reached for his poker chip, he glared at the floor while he waited.

The behavior of the partners set off a clamor of warning bells for their watching colleagues and the questioning look Cam gave Angela was returned with concern. Unable to ignore what they saw the two women exited Angela's office and stood expectantly in front of the brooding agent.

"What's up, Big Guy?" Cam demanded.

He glanced up at them and then straightened. "Nothing." The look she was giving him clearly showed she did not believe him and his scowl deepened. "Why are you even here? Aren't you supposed to be on leave?"

"Apparently I cut it short so you could yell at me."

"I said nothing is wrong! Drop it, Camille."

"I absolutely hate it when someone lies to me," Angela observed to Cam.

"Don't start," Booth warned turning to the artist with the same glare he had given his old friend.

"Don't start what?" Brennan asked joining them as she shrugged her way into her coat.

"Nothing. You ready?"

Her eyes hardened automatically, his quick cold words bringing out her natural and defensive response. "Let's go."

"Bren, wait," Angela said reaching out to stop her as Brennan passed. "What's going on with you?"

"We have a case to solve," Brennan stated. "There isn't anything wrong."

Angela watched her walk away noting the clear space and lack of touch between the retreating bodies. "Two lies to my face in less than five minutes," she said as the doors closed behind them. "I think I'm insulted."

"They are fire and gasoline on a good day," Cam noted. "We shouldn't be surprised."

"Maybe not," Angela answered. "But I get the feeling this one caught the two of them by surprise."

* * *

><p>Booth tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel as he maneuvered the SUV through the quiet streets of Villanova, Pennsylvania. Brennan snuck a few looks at his tight, drawn profile, once again frustrated at her lack of social awareness and inability to draw Booth out of his self-imposed shell. He had been less snippy since their earlier disagreement, but she knew that whatever was bothering him was still weighing heavily on his mind and she struggled with what to say to let him know that it was safe for him to open up to her.<p>

She was pulled from her thoughts when Booth turned sharply into a large, winding driveway that was lined with well-manicured hedges. He parked the truck directly in front of the front door of a massive estate, its façade decorated with tumbled travertine and covered in climbing ivy. Putting the vehicle in park, Booth sighed heavily and turned to his partner.

"You ready, Bones?"

She regarded him for a moment, wanting to say something to reassure him but knowing that now was not the time, she simply nodded and moved to open her door. Following him to the front of the imposing home, she noted the shuffling of his feet and the curve of his back, and then smothered a proud smile as Booth determinedly pulled himself upright and squared his shoulders so he stood straight and tall as he rang the ornate doorbell to the left of the entrance. The door swung open and they were greeted by a smiling middle-aged woman in what looked to be medical scrubs.

"Afternoon. Can I help you folks?"

Booth pulled his badge. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth, and this here's my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute in DC. We're here to speak with Miss Emmeline Hamilton-Pomeroy, if we could?"

The smile slipped off the woman's lips as she glanced at Booth's proffered badge, Brennan's solemn expression, and back again. She nodded once and opened the door further, beckoning the partners into the immense entryway of the house. "If you wouldn't mind waiting here in the sitting room for a moment, I'll let Miss Emmeline know that you're here." She pointed to the small, elegantly-decorated room to their right and then turned on her heel and walked away. Booth and Brennan looked at each other, and with a shrug she led the way into the designated room.

Once through the doorway, they noticed a large chaise lounge sitting across from an overstuffed chair, both in muted tones of green and brown, with a matching ottoman situated between them. Brennan looked around at the sparsely decorated room and noted that the only other pieces of furniture were a beautiful matched set of Hepplewhite shield-back chairs flanking the decoration-free fireplace. Even the built-in shelves were bare. Booth noted the lack of pictures and knickknacks and had just turned to mention the oddity when a soft, gravelly voice drew them out of their observations.

"I realize that this room looks nothing like the showplace it was in its heyday, but I am no longer able nor as inclined to accept guests as I once was."

Booth turned and immediately crossed to the doorway, where the nurse who had greeted them at the door was escorting a small, elderly lady slowly to one of the seats in the room. He offered his arm and the delighted woman took it happily while patting the hand he rested on her arm in support. Once he had Miss Emmeline settled into the soft armchair, he joined Brennan on the chaise.

Without preamble, their host jumped right in. "Andrea tells me that you are from the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Yes, ma'am." Booth confirmed. "Special Agent Seeley Booth, and my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan."

Emmeline smiled. "Oh yes, I am well acquainted with Dr. Brennan. My Uncle Jacob was a big fan of your novels, my dear." She nodded to Brennan, who smiled tightly, as she always did when someone mentioned her books during an investigation.

Booth saw the look and moved the conversation forward. "Yes, well…Ms. Hamilton-Pomeroy, we are here because of your sister, Claire."

Emmeline visibly jerked, but regained her composure so quickly that Booth almost missed it. She turned and gave her nurse a look, causing the other woman to turn and leave the room without a word. "You've found her, then." It was not a question.

"Yes. Her…" Brennan looked to Booth, quickly, and then continued. "…remains were discovered in Virginia."

The slight, older woman in front of them sucked a breath between her teeth and nodded. "I knew…" Her breath locked in her throat, so she cleared it delicately and tried again. "I knew she was dead. She never would have left without telling our father. She adored Daddy."

"Did Claire have any enemies? Anyone who wished her harm?" Booth asked.

"Of course, my father was extremely wealthy. In those days, kidnappings for ransom were not unheard of; in fact they were de rigueur in certain social circles. Everyone we knew had either been threatened or had been the victim of abduction." Having regained her composure, Emmeline gave them a half-smile. "And Claire was the golden child. The Belle of the Ball always…we probably received a threat a month where she was concerned."

"Were any of those threats carried out?"

"As far as I know, never." She leaned back into the plush cushion behind her. "But you must remember, Agent Booth, I was only eight years old when Claire disappeared. My memories have diminished; even more so as this damn filthy disease progresses."

Booth sat forwards slightly, a concerned look on his face. "May I ask…?"

"Dementia. Vascular dementia, to be exact."

"You suffered a stroke?" Brennan said gently.

Emmeline leveled her gaze to the scientist. "Yes. About six years ago. Fought my way back from not being able to tie my own shoes only to find myself now completely forgetting to tie them."

"I am sorry."

"No need to be. God has a reason." She pulled an intricately stitched, handmade handkerchief from her sleeve and delicately dabbed her eye. "In any case, I am afraid I will not be much help. Besides, you're FBI, Agent Booth. My grandfather was good friends with Hoover, there should be case files."

"There is, ma'am. It's sometimes easier to get the family's perspective. You know, cut through the cop speak."

A genuine smile crossed her thin, weathered lips. "My father would have liked you. He was a no- nonsense kind of man, and you seem quite like him."

Only Brennan would have noticed the ticking in Booth's jaw at that statement.

Booth continued on as if Emmeline had never spoken. "Do you remember Toby Ingalls?"

"Oh, we're going to dredge that old chestnut up again, are we?" To Brennan's amusement, the elderly woman actually rolled her eyes. "Toby was a distraction for Claire, something fun to toy with before she chose the right boy and settled down to wait for her inheritance."

"Really?" Brennan interjected.

"The newspapers, of course, tried to make it out to be more than it was. But the family knew better. The Ingalls family knew better. Mr. Ingalls tried to warn Toby about Claire, and of course he didn't listen."

"Because he loved her."

Brennan looked sharply at Booth's comment, spoken quietly and surely. There was something there, in this situation with Claire and Toby, that was obviously at the root of Booth's irritation. Their hostess, however, missed the subtext in his words and continued on. "I suppose he thought he did. Claire was beautiful and fun and sweet and everything that Toby Ingalls was never going to have with a girl from his social strata." She finally noticed how Booth clutched his pen tightly. "You find that sort of economic segregation appalling, Agent Booth?"

"I…" He looked to Brennan a moment, something flashing in his eyes before he managed to cover it. "No, Ms. Hamilton-Pomeroy. I do not. That was how things were done back then, I understand that."

"Yes, it was. Right or wrong." Emmeline smiled at Booth. "I'm not endorsing it, Agent. I am simply explaining the situation as it was."

With a tight nod, Booth stood, surprising Brennan into joining him. "Ma'am, I appreciate you giving us your time today. I will probably have more questions, and I realize that you need to make some….arrangements, so we will be in touch." He pulled a card out of his breast pocket and wrote on the back. "This is my business card, with my cell number on the back. Please call me if you think of anything else that could help us find out what happened to Claire."

"Of course." She took the card. "Thank you, Agent Booth. Dr. Brennan."

Brennan nodded. "We are sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

B&B

The ride back to DC was distractingly quiet. They had stopped at the Philadelphia field office to check in as a courtesy, and to pick up some information about the trunk company before jumping back on 95 and heading for home. Brennan tried to engage Booth in conversation but it was obvious that he wasn't ready to share. Finally giving up, she pulled up a book on her phone and began to read as Booth fiddled with the radio, neither speaking nor even looking at the other.

Finally, around Aberdeen, Maryland, Booth switched off the radio and sighed. "My mother grew up ten miles from the Pomeroys."

"What?" Brennan's head snapped up, unsure of what she had just heard. "Are you telling me that your parents were wealthy?"

Booth shook his head and squinted into the sun, having pulled his sunglasses up so he could look Brennan in the eye. "No, but my mother's family was. Is, I guess. I don't know, I've never met any of them."

Brennan's mind, working a mile a second, realized just exactly why this case had been tearing Booth up inside. "Your father was a working class man from Philly and your mother was a wealthy socialite from the Main Line."

"Yeah." His answer was short, but his voice was low and soft. "Her father _hated_ my dad. Called him a gold digger…and a few other names I won't repeat." He rubbed the hand not holding the steering wheel across his face. "None of that mattered to my mom, though. She loved him and she wanted to marry him."

"Your mother told you this?"

"She was proud of the fact that she stood up to her family. I mean, I may have only been seven, but I knew. I could see how much it hurt her to have to choose." He cleared his throat. "She said…my dad; he told her that he would give her up if it meant her family would disown her."

Brennan looked surprised. "That seems incongruent to what little I know about your father."

"I know. But my old man, he wasn't always…like that." He turned his full attention to the road as they took their designated exit near Baltimore, while Brennan sat silently, waiting patiently. Once they were back on a clear stretch of road, Booth continued. "Anyway, we had good times when I was little. But when it went to hell, it went to hell pretty quickly."

Trying to steer the discussion away from Booth's abuse at his father's hands, Brennan kept asking questions. "You said you've never met your mother's family?" At Booth's answer in the negative, she shook her head. "Did you ask your mother about them?"

"Sure. I was young and curious. We knew Pops and Grams, our aunts, uncles and cousins from my dad's side, so of course I wanted to know everything about the other side. But besides telling me her maiden name, Mom never really wanted to talk about it."

Brennan nodded. "She wanted to make a clean break."

Booth's eyes shot to Brennan for a moment, his brow furrowed. "You think?"

"You don't?"

"No…I mean, yeah. I thought about it, about that being the reason. That it was too painful for her to talk about, but…I don't know." With a shake of his head, he changed the conversation himself. "Bones, I'm sorry I was such an ass earlier."

"Well, I can understand why this particular case would bother you, so I forgive you."

He grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Thank you."

"But you realize that this conversation isn't over." She raised an eyebrow at his confused look. "You haven't told me the whole story."

Mildly irritated at her switch, he clenched his hands on the wheel. "Maybe I can't." At her scoff, he turned the radio back on and flipped down his sunglasses. "Not now. Not…not yet."

"But soon, Booth." She leaned over and touched his leg. "Soon."

"Yeah." He signaled for a lane change and drove into DC without another word.

B&B

Brennan entered the lab still consumed with thoughts of Booth's revelation. The emotion he had revealed, the depth of his feelings intimidated her. She wanted to be there for him, needed to offer him the kind of support she knew he needed. Their new relationship awarded her that responsibility and that privilege and she desperately wanted to fulfill her role. She had made much progress in the last year, she was far more capable of interpreting her own emotions and those of the people around her and she was proud of her growing skill. But she worried this was more than she was ready for.

"Thank God, there you are!" Brennan looked up surprised to see Cam walking briskly toward her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong?" Cam answered shaking her head. "Unless you count complete failure at my first test of motherhood as being wrong, then there might be a small issue."

"Failure?" Brennan asked in confusion. "What test?"

"I left my baby with a complete stranger, Brennan!"

"I thought your nanny came well recommended?"

"She worked six years for Paul's partner," Cam agreed dismissively. "That doesn't mean she's not a homicidal maniac! I'm an idiot!"

"You are well above the average measure of intelligence. Certainly not to the standards set by myself, or even Dr. Hodgins, but you are far from idiocy."

"Tell that to my baby. He thinks I don't love him anymore!"

"Are you experiencing hysteria?" Brennan asked with concern. "You seem emotionally distraught."

"I'm freaking out!" Cam yelled. "He's six weeks old, Brennan. What the hell was I thinking?"

Like most questions Brennan answered without considering the point might be rhetorical. "You were thinking that as a dedicated scientist, administrator and coroner that your absence was a detriment to our team. What I think you failed to consider is how your priorities are changing now that you have an offspring."

Cam snorted softly and shook her head in wonder. "You are always a mystery, Dr. Brennan."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means you're right," Cam assured her. "And I just realize that I've made a horrible mistake. If it's all right with you, I'd like to resume my maternity leave."

"That would be acceptable," Brennan agreed.

"Great!" Cam said taking a quick step around the scientist and bolting for the door. "Good luck with the case! I'll call you about when I'll be back." She paused at the door and turned. "Thanks, Brennan," she said with a more rational tone. "I appreciate the moral support."

Brennan watched her go the words of praise giving her a spark of hope that perhaps she was up to the challenge she faced after all. Her thoughts still a jumble she resumed the mission she had been on before Cam's departure and entered Angela's office.

The artist looked up smiling with cheer. She could still feel the urge to offer advice about the trouble she had seen earlier and she resisted. She knew the partners fought often, they always had, they always would. But they had been so happy lately, the kind of happy everyone knew they had been waiting for, and Angela hated to see them in their first real fight. But, she reminded herself of all the past arguments and all the past resolutions and she made herself ask a different question. "Hey Sweetie, how was the interview with little Emmeline?"

Brennan's brow crinkled. "Ange, Emmeline Hamilton-Pomeroy is seventy-eight years old. Why would you refer to her as little?"

The artist chuckled sheepishly. "I've been researching old news clippings. I guess I'm a little caught up in the story. When it happened she was only eight years old."

Brennan nodded with understanding. "Are you able to glean any pertinent facts from those old reports?"

"I don't know if it's useful or not, but it's juicy."

"What did you find?" Brennan asked suddenly eager to discuss anything, even gossip, as long as it wasn't her fight with Booth.

"Well, the Hamiltons and Pomeroys were two of the upper-upper crusts back in the day," the artist began. There was excitement in her voice and Brennan felt her concerns fading from focus as her attention shifted to the story. "These clippings are full of all the good stuff, fancy parties, hot romance, misconduct, shady business deals, illicit affairs, it's like a soap opera."

"And Claire was part of it?"

"Actually, our little Claire was the darling of the day. She was the 'it girl' of pre-war Philly.

"I don't know what that means."

"It means she was hot," Angela said with a laugh. "For three years she was at the absolute pinnacle of the rich and famous party scene. She was the good girl, the beautiful, glamorous debutant every girl wanted to be and every guy wanted to marry. She dated a Rockefeller, a Kennedy and even a DuPont." The artist stopped and a slow smirk spread across her lips. "She never landed a Hodgins though."

Brennan chuckled knowing the fact that Hodgins family enjoyed the same socio-economic status as the victim was of absolutely no concern to his wife. "What happened after three years?"

"She stopped showing up to every event. Suddenly, she wasn't at all the right parties or dating all the most eligible bachelors. If I had to guess I'd say that's about the time she met Toby. There was wild speculation at the time of her disappearance, the idea of her running away with a commoner was worse than anything that actually happened. The fact that Toby could be accounted for never seemed to matter to the gossip rags."

Brennan frowned as she remembered Booth's words. "The boy from the wrong side of the tracks," she muttered.

"Sweetie, are you ok?"

Brennan pulled her thoughts away from the scene with Booth and tried to school her features into her usual impassive mask. "I'm fine."

"God, you suck at lying," Angela scolded. "What's up? Come on, don't hold out on me. I'm your best friend; you aren't allowed to not tell me."

Brennan was fairly certain no such rule existed. "Something about this case troubles Booth," she said trying to explain without revealing what she knew should only be between she and her partner.

"Yeah, that much was obvious earlier. What has his boxers all twisted?"

"Ange, I really can't tell you that."

"Yeah, ok," her friend agreed. "Too personal; I get it. But, Sweetie, you two have to talk about it."

"We have. Or at least we tried. He needs more time."

Angela sat back as a tiny grunt of recognition emerged from her. She had refrained from offering advice moments before, but with that comment she felt like it was an imperative. "I've been married for a whole year," she said in a self-deprecating kind of way. "So I get to pretend I know more than you about things. And I would never presume to explain Booth to you; I know there is no one who knows him better than you. But Sweetie, I know how painful it can be for both of you when there are things you should talk about and don't. If I had talked to Jack about my feelings when we came back from Paris, I could have saved us both a lot of hurt. So, give Booth the time he asked for, but don't wait too long."

Brennan nodded clearly thinking carefully about what she had heard.

Brennan nodded clearly thinking carefully about what she had heard. Angela knew better than to go on and she changed both her tone and the subject. "Hey, look at these! While I was going through all the news reports on Claire I kept finding stuff on Hodgins' family." Brennan looked up at the Angelator and saw a photo of a man with very familiar eyes. "Sterling Hodgins," Angela identified him. "Jack's great-uncle and in the early forties the biggest flirt on the planet. He was quite the embarrassment running around with anything in a skirt. They caught him in at least three entanglements with married women and if I read between the lines correctly one man. Then there was this guy," she continued changing the photograph. "Emerson Hodgins, he was known to party so much he would completely destroy the location and the reputation of just about everyone who attended. Apparently it was worth it, he was a popular guy."

Brennan chuckled and moved toward the door. "I have work to do," she announced.

"I'm going to keep looking," Angela promised. She resumed her search and another titillating headline appeared. "Another Hodgins story," she muttered. "What kind of family did I marry into?"

Brennan walked to her office her mind on the advice Angela had given. She knew her friend was right, but she was at a loss as to what to say to Booth. As if her thoughts were a cue her phone rang and his number displayed on the screen. "Hi," she answered evenly wondering if she would have to find those words quickly.

"Hey." There was tension in his voice still and he paused. "Look, Bones I think I'm going to stay at my place tonight. I need a little time to think and I'll do that better if I'm alone." Brennan didn't answer she wasn't certain what to say. "Bones? Did you hear?"

"I heard you, Booth. If you feel that will be beneficial I have no objection."

He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I just need some time. Ok?"

"It's ok, Booth."

"I'll call you."

"Ok." He hung up before she could say more. As she resumed her walk to her office it occurred to her that she now had time to consider just what to say to him.

* * *

><p>"Good morning," Angela said as she felt the bed shift. Almost every morning started with the same kiss she was now receiving. The soft scratch of Jack's beard made her smile before his lips even reached her bare shoulder. She let him linger against her skin enjoying the way his breath washed over her with warmth and the way the love she felt coursing between them seemed to give them this one perfect moment.<p>

"Good morning," he finally replied.

Angela rolled to her back and he lifted enough that she could tuck herself beneath him. His curls were disheveled and he was wearing that adorable lopsided grin that always made him look like a naughty little boy. "What are you thinking about?" she demanded, already able to see exactly what was on his mind.

"I'm thinking I rocked your world last night," Hodgins bragged. "And I'd like to do it again."

"It was fairly noteworthy," she taunted laughing as he reacted with indignation.

"Fairly noteworthy?" he demanded.

"Well, the bar for Hodgins' has been raised," Angela advised playfully. "If you are going to hold up the family reputation you might have to pick it up a little. You wouldn't want to disappoint old Sterling or Emerson would you?"

"Oh, no!" Jack cried recognizing the names.

"Did you think I wasn't going to find out?" Angela laughed as he rolled away from her. "Or about the crazy old Hodgins who walked all over Chicago with a rock on his head?"

"He was a small man, he was afraid he'd blow away. It is 'the Windy City' you know."

"If you start throwing dinner parties for dogs, I'm going to have you committed," Angela warned.

"Don't make fun of Grandmother Gert!"

"You remember her?" Angela asked dropping her teasing in favor of her question. "She was your great-great grandmother."

"She lived to be a hundred-and-two," Hodgins laughed. "I remember a wrinkled old lady surrounded by little yippy dogs that loved to steal the chocolates she gave me. She used to order her nurse to push her wheelchair out into the sunshine and then she would sit with me while I crawled all through the grass looking for bugs."

"Aw, that's adorable," Angela cooed and snuggled closer.

"We Hodgins are an adorable kind of crazy," he bragged.

Chuckling Angela slid her hand over his chest. "I don't think Emerson or Sterling were as crazy as they were horny."

"We Hodgins are that too," he answered. Her touch was sending him a signal and he again rolled over her.

"Oh yeah?" One hand slid behind his head and she pulled him down to her waiting lips. "I'll show you my crazy, if you show me yours," she offered in a purr.

B&B

"Good morning," Brennan greeted her partner as she climbed into the SUV.

"Morning, Bones." His words were soft but hesitant and they both felt uncomfortable. She leaned across the space between them and their lips met for a brief stilted kiss. "Sleep ok?" he asked as she sat back.

"Fine, thank you. Was the time alone what you needed?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he answered despite the fact that it had done him no good at all. He put the truck in gear and pulled away from her apartment building. "You need a coffee or anything?" he asked making the turn that would eventually lead them to the interstate.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

Booth's hands tightened on the wheel in reaction to the hurt in her voice. His guilt weighed heavily, but he couldn't say what he needed to say and so he said nothing. In only a few minutes they were leaving DC and neither said a word.

After two hours of the same quiet Brennan could take no more of it. "Turner is doing well," she observed into the silence of the rolling vehicle.

Booth glanced her way and then nodded curtly. "Yeah, she is. I had her start from scratch and she worked this one by the book. We probably would have found out Toby is alive even without her, but following every old lead like that means the most thorough approach."

"I prefer thorough," Brennan praised.

Despite his tension a weak smile lifted the corner of Booth's mouth. "I know," he agreed.

"Booth…"

"Later," he quickly said to cut off her effort at changing the topic. The smile was gone and his lips resumed the same scowl he had worn for days.

The vehemence of his single word stopped her and the uncomfortable silence again descended. They rode the rest of the way in quiet broken only by Booth's muttered complaints about the traffic. Ignoring the GPS he maneuvered the truck through the streets of South Philadelphia seeming to know exactly where they were headed. The modern SUV looked almost too large for the narrow streets but he drove confidently and parked as if the space was designed for the truck.

Exiting the vehicle Booth led her on a short walk down the street, his steps growing lighter with each touch on the pavement. The row of conjoined brick homes were distinguished from one another by individual touches like painted bricks or window flower boxes or vivid accents of colorful doors and shutters. Despite the fact they lay only a few miles apart this neighborhood looked like a different world compared to the estate they have visited yesterday. The difference in Booth was even more obvious and he rapped his knuckles against the bright blue door of 238 Monroe Street with an ease of familiarity.

It took some time for Booth's knock to be answered. They waited, they could hear movement inside, and when the door opened a thin man of extreme age smiled in welcome. "Yes?" he asked his clear voice a surprising contrast to his frail body.

"Toby Ingalls?" Booth asked respectfully? When the old man nodded the agent continued. "Sir, I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian. We'd like to ask you a few questions if we could."

"Well, I haven't heard those words in some time," Toby said with a sad smile. "I'll have to assume it's about the same thing," he added. "You found my Claire?"

"Yes, Sir," Booth answered.

Toby sighed sadly and waved them inside. "Come along," he invited. "My granddaughter lives with me, but she's out at the moment and we can speak freely." The partners followed him into the house. Warm touches filled every room and they spied pictures of smiling family members, hand-crafted ceramics done by obviously juvenile hands and several vases of beautifully arranged fresh flowers. "We'll have to sit," Toby joked as he lowered himself onto the sofa in his living room. "These old bones tire easily."

"Bones don't tire," Brennan objected automatically. "The fatigue you feel is likely caused by lack of lubrication in the joints and decrease in muscle elasticity related to age."

"I stand corrected," the old man agreed with a smile. Booth smiled along and then Toby turned to him. "What does the FBI need to know, Agent Booth?"

"The truth," Booth answered simply. "We would actually listen to it this time."

If the answer surprised him Toby didn't show it. He sat back and his eyes closed as he collected his thoughts on events so far past. "Claire was beautiful," he began and the smile that touched his face made him appear young again. "She walked into my father's store one afternoon and made me believe in fate."

Booth's eyes flickered to Brennan and then back to the old man. "You loved her."

"With all my heart, Agent Booth and she loved me too." He laughed ruefully. "That wasn't supposed to happen. I think that first day she agreed to see me as a lark. She was quite the social butterfly and it amused her to dabble with me. But she couldn't deny what was between us and it was she that asked me for a date the very next day."

"And the two of you planned to be married?" Booth asked.

"We did," Toby agreed. "Despite our families' objections."

"Both families objected?" Brennan asked needing clarification.

"Hers objected out of 'propriety'," he explained. "Mine out of practicality; but we were too stubborn to listen."

"Her sister told us Claire never would have gone through with it."

"They would have like to believe that," he said with a shrug. His gesture was followed by a chuckle. "Emmeline would have especially wanted to believe it."

"Why?" Booth asked quickly.

"The child was horribly jealous. She worshipped Claire and Claire her. Em was only a child, she didn't understand love. I think she saw in me as a bigger threat to her love for her sister than all the balls and dinner parties combined and she had no idea how to handle that."

"Because Claire was serious about her time with you."

"You understand perfectly, Agent Booth."

"What do you believe happened to Claire?"

"I wish I knew," he sighed sadly. "We spoke that very day and confirmed our plans; she was to meet me that night at the drug store after closing. I had saved my earnings and booked passage to California. We were going to run away, start fresh on our own and live the happy life we had planned."

"But she didn't show up?" Brennan finished.

He shook his head and new tears fell in response to the old pain. He let them fall for a moment and then lifted his face to the ceiling and took a deep breath. "I tried to find out what had happened, but of course no self-respecting member of society would speak to the son of a druggist. After the FBI questioned me I knew she wasn't coming back."

"It was Spring of 1941 and war was coming. Anyone paying attention knew it was only a matter of time. I couldn't stay in Philly, it was too painful and so I enlisted. And then I was stationed overseas, a half a world away from all my pain. I moved on, learned to accept that she was gone. Eventually I met a woman who touched me, not in the same way, but it was love all the same. I brought her back to Philly, we married, raised a family, I had a good life. But I have to say, the single greatest regret of my 92 years is not knowing what happened that night. If you can find the answer, I would be grateful."

"We're trying," Booth promised. He stood and when the old man rose to his feet he offered his hand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Ingalls. And I am so very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, son," he answered and then took Brennan's offered hand. "Find the answers for my Claire," he said and Brennan nodded.

They let themselves out and their walk down the street to the waiting SUV was again filled with silence.

B&B

Once again, the ornate front door of the Pomeroy swung open and the partners were welcomed in by Ms. Hamilton-Pomeroy's nurse. However, instead of being sent to the sitting room, they were led up the winding staircase to the second floor, where they were informed that Miss Emmeline was in poor health and that she would see them in her personal suite.

Once the double doors were opened, the first thing that Brennan noticed was the difference in the décor. Instead of the sparse furnishings that barely adorned downstairs rooms, Emmeline's own space was covered floor to ceiling in knickknacks, pictures and several pieces of what were obviously priceless antiques. The walls were lined with built-in shelves, each of which was packed with the memories of each and every one of the woman's seventy-eight years.

In the center of the room lay Ms. Emmeline Hamilton-Pomeroy, regally ensconced in a large four-poster bed, the Gone with the Wind-like visual only marred by the tubes and IV lines running from her frail body. As Booth greeted the ailing witness, Brennan continued to look around the room. She nodded absently at Emmeline's greeting, ignoring Booth's glare at her rudeness. But her attention had been drawn to a section of wall dedicated to what appeared to be the woman's old toys from her childhood, specifically a set of dolls.

"Excuse me?" Brennan interrupted Booth's explanation of their investigation thus far, eliciting another scowl from her partner and an inquisitive look from Emmeline.

"Yes, Dr. Brennan?" Her eyes followed the scientist's, and when she realized where she was pointing, what little color she had drained from her face. "Oh. Oh, my."

Booth stood and crossed the room to stand next to Brennan. When he saw where she was indicating, he could only stare. One shelf was completely filled with Shirley Temple dolls of every size and type. He never noticed when Brennan left his side and moved to take his abandoned seat next to the bed.

"What happened, Emmeline?" Brennan's voice was barely above a whisper, but the elderly woman heard her clearly.

"I adored my sister. Worshipped her." She began, struggling to pull herself into a sitting position. Booth moved quickly to help her, using a pillow to prop her up comfortably. "I don't know if either of you had an older sibling, but there is a tendency towards hero worship if the age gap is as considerable, as it was between myself and Claire."

Brennan tilted her head in agreement. "My brother, Russ, is only four years older than I, but I understand what you mean."

"Yes." Emmeline affected a far-off expression, obviously seeing something from years back in her past. "And Claire was beautiful. And kind. She was thirteen when I was born, but she never resented me. She included me when she could, and when she couldn't, she would sneak in my bedroom...this very bedroom, and regale me with her night's adventures. I was the first one she told about Toby."

"You knew she loved him, deeply." Booth said, shaking his head.

Emmeline nodded sadly. "I did. As I said, Claire was beautiful, but when she spoke of Toby, her whole face lit up…her eyes sparkled…she was breathtaking. But at eight years old, all I knew was that my father would never approve, and Toby was going to take my Claire away from me."

"You don't know that for sure, Emmeline." Brennan added.

"Oh, but I do." A sheen of tears had begun to form in her eyes, and her voice had gotten even softer. "You see, I heard her on the phone that night, the night she disappeared. She was talking to Toby, telling him that if her father wouldn't approve their marriage that they could run away together."

"And you couldn't have that."

"No." The answer was simple, but the story was not. "She went out to the barn, afterwards, and I followed her."

"There isn't a barn on this property." Brennan pointed out.

Emmeline shook her head. "I had it torn down years ago. In any case, the barn was where Claire would go when she wanted to be alone, to think…and in my young girl's hopeful heart I thought that if I begged her, she would forget about Toby and stay with me." She sighed, hands idly picking at the eyelet cover over her lap. "She went up into the loft, and I went after her. We fought…well, as much as a young woman of twenty-one years can fight with a child. She said that she loved Toby with everything she had and that someday I would understand how that felt, if I was lucky." She snorted, albeit delicately. "And I thought that my love would be enough to keep her here. As I said, I was a child. And all I knew was that she was going to leave me…for a boy who would probably never amount to more than a druggist, if he was lucky."

Booth reached over to the nightstand and picked up a glass of water, handing it to Emmeline and waiting while she took a grateful sip. "You only knew what you were taught by your family."

"Maybe. But it was like…she just didn't _care_ that she was breaking my heart. That she was going to leave me there alone, with nothing but a cold, unfeeling mother and a staid, distant father in a dark, joyless house." She twisted the blanket in her fist as she spoke. "The irony of this disease I have now is that I have a hard time remembering my middle name, but I remember what happened that night as if it happened yesterday. Claire stood there, at the edge of the loft, and smiled. As if my despair was nothing. And I just…I was blinded by this dark, terrible urge to wipe that smile off her face. So I charged her."

"And she fell." Brennan whispered.

"Yes."

"Did you intend to push her out of the loft?" Booth asked, still taking notes but admittedly caught up in the sadness of the story.

A tear traced down her pale, wrinkled face. "I think about that all the time. I like to think that I simply meant to push her down in the loft. That I wasn't old enough to understand that she could die, be seriously hurt….it's the only way I can sleep at night." She raised bloodshot eyes to Brennan. "But I honestly do not know."

Clearing his throat, Booth tapped his pen on his note card. "How did she get into the trunk?"

"Uncle Jacob. He came running when he heard Claire scream. He saw what had happened, and he told me he would take care of everything. I watched as he pulled that old trunk out and lifted her into it, and I left my favorite doll with her, so she wouldn't…" Her voice left her, a choked sound escaping her throat. "I didn't want her to be alone." She sniffed and wiped her nose delicately. "I never knew what he did with her after that. I never asked, and he never offered to tell me."

"Did you speak to the FBI when they investigated her disappearance?" Brennan asked.

"No, they never asked to speak with me. I suppose they thought I was too young to know anything."

Booth sighed and ran a hand over his face. He looked across the bed at Brennan, who looked as saddened as he felt. Their silent communication was interrupted when the woman sitting between them whispered one last question.

"So, what happens now?"

B&B

Once again heading back to DC, both partners reflected on the last few days and what they had learned about each other and their relationship. Brennan felt that they still needed to be more open with each other, despite being as close as two people can be and Booth worried that if Brennan knew about all his inner demons it would make her think twice about whether he was worth all the effort.

Brennan sighed and stole glances at Booth as he did the same thing and pretended to watch the road. At one point, she reached for the radio, surprised when Booth touched her hand and shook his head, his eyes sad and tired. She got the message and settled back into her seat once again.

The almost-three hour drive was interminable with neither speaking, not even the noise of the radio to distract them, but eventually they reached their destination and Booth turned off the freeway, headed for the lab to drop Brennan off. He could see her reflection in the windshield, and even though her features were barely discernable, he could clearly see her anguish. Anguish that he had brought to her with his inability to open up and completely let her in. He had done that to her.

Finally reaching his breaking point, Booth pulled the SUV over to the side of the road, ignoring the honking horns and flashing lights from the cars that were whizzing by them on the busy street. He jumped out of the car and ran around the front, yanking open Brennan's door and pulling her out of the truck and into his tight embrace, his knuckles white as he fisted her blouse in his hands.

Brennan held on just as tight, her entire body thrumming like a live wire. "I can't do this anymore, Booth." Her breath hitched as she whispered her confession into his shoulder.

"I know, Bones. I know…it's my fault, I just…it hurts. When I think of what my mother gave up for him and how they treated her…"

Brennan pulled back and placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. "You have to tell me, Booth." At his pained expression, she shook her head. "No. You're safe here, with me. You know that." When his head dropped to her shoulder, she rested her head against his, lips close to his ear. "Once, you told me that in order to be able to ask someone something personal, you have to give something of yourself." She reached up and swiped at a tear. "And I think that I have more than held up my end of the bargain, it's time…we need to balance the scales, Booth. Or we're never going to be right. And I want more than anything for us to be right."

He nodded against her neck and pulled back. "I know."

And in a quiet, shaking voice, standing on the side of the road in downtown Washington DC, Booth finally began to remove some of the weight from his side, and add it to hers.

* * *

><p>The team gathered, as they always did, to celebrate the close of a case but as the squints entered the Founding Fathers their topic of discussion kept the mood somber. "Has anyone talked to either of them since this afternoon?" Hodgins asked holding the door open for his wife and then the intern who followed.<p>

"Bren didn't say much when she returned to the lab," Angela answered with some worry. "I think they'd had another fight, she looked completely drained."

"I chose not to interrupt," Vincent insisted as they each took a seat at the bar.

"Hey, guys," Turner called brightly as she approached from behind. "Sweets said to tell everyone hi. He's kicking ass as this week's featured Quantico lecturer." She took one look at their concerned faces and knew something was wrong. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Angela said firmly. "We are just looking for trouble. Bren and Booth are fine, there's no reason to worry."

"Fine how?" Turner asked taking the seat next to Vincent.

"They've been fighting," Hodgins explained.

"Ah," Turner noted with a nod. "Now I get it. But they argue all the time right? Why worry about this one?"

"This was different," Hodgins insisted.

"Well it was," Angela corrected nodding toward the window. "I've seen those smiles before," she continued as the partners neared on the sidewalk outside. "They've already kissed and made up."

"You sure?" Jack asked with worry.

"Honey, if there is one thing I know it's Booth's sexy little 'How Can You Stay Mad at Me' smirk." As if to make her point Booth pulled Brennan to a stop and gave her a quick kiss before opening the door.

The entry of a reunited and obviously happy pair of partners set the celebration in gear and Hodgins quickly bought the first round. "Here's to oldest case we've ever tackled," he said lifting his glass. "Not counting Aztecs, Mayans and Egyptian remains. May they all be as successful."

"And here's to true love," Angela quickly added. "Claire would have kept that promise to Toby." Glasses clinked and Angela smiled over hers as she watched her friends share another kiss. "So, was it sad?" she asked as Brennan took the seat next to her and Booth moved to stand behind.

"Was what sad?"

"Hauling a little old lady off to jail for something she did seventy years ago."

Brennan shook her head. "Emmeline is resting comfortably at home. Caroline felt it ill advised to prosecute."

"That's it?" Turner complained. "She kills her sister and she walks?"

"Consider the circumstances, Turner," Booth lectured. "She's old, she's dying and she's lived with the guilt her whole life. Caroline just didn't see the point."

"In her condition any time spent in incarceration would likely exacerbate her medical decline," Brennan added.

"But we still solved it," Hodgins insisted.

That prompted another round of toasts and then the gathering settled into the familiar lazy routine as the team began to decompress from the intensity of the work they had performed. Conversations drifted from the crime to more everyday matters and the easy flow of friendly chatter filled the air around them.

Vincent was nearly silent as he followed the other men to the end of the bar to check the latest sports report. He had little interest in American football but he was waiting for an opportunity and so he listened to Booth and Hodgins discuss the upcoming Super Bowl. Watching carefully, he waited and when a break in the conversation allowed both men to take a drink of their respective beers he slugged back the rest of his pint and turned to Booth.

"Agent Booth," Vincent began the quick gulp of alcohol giving him the courage to speak. "I want to take this opportunity to assure you that I have a new policy regarding my research. From this day forward I will be conducting all thesis related research between the hours of four and seven AM. Unless my duties as Dr. Brennan's intern are required in relation to an ongoing FBI investigation I shall be leaving promptly at five o'clock." He smiled desperately and shifted his weight to the other foot. "Out the door," he clapped his hands and made a skidding gesture, "Completely gone at the precise hour."

Booth's scowl didn't move but he leaned forward just a fraction of an inch, just enough to make Vincent gulp. "You did not just say that to me."

The big agent's low voice caused the intern's eyes to widen in panic and he shook his head violently. "I…no…I said nothing." He backed away twisting his body swiveling wildly as he fought the urge to flee. "Terrible echo in here," he offered lamely. Booth continued to glare and he took another step before blurting out the first fact that came to mind. "The time delay in an echo is the distance divided by the speed of sound." Booth gave no response and Vincent broke, turning and fleeing for his life to the relative safety of the women's conversation.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" Hodgins chuckled as they watched the intern flee.

"Hell yeah," Booth answered finally cracking a smile.

Jack lifted an eyebrow in speculation but when Booth's glare began to return he stopped. "I won't ask what he did to piss you off."

"Good plan," Booth praised.

B&B

The partners were sitting at Brennan's kitchen island sharing dessert, a surprise for Booth that Brennan had worked on most of the previous evening and had warmed for him as soon as they arrived home.

Booth dug into his slice of apple pie, ridiculously pleased that Brennan had gone against her usual stance to make it for him. "This is fantastic, Bones. I can't believe you made me a pie! With cooked fruit!"

Brennan grinned. "Cooked fruit is like God, Booth. Just because I don't believe in it doesn't mean that other people can't."

Snorting a laugh around a huge bite, Booth shook his head. "Just when I think I have you figured out, Temperance Brennan…you go and throw me a curve ball, like jumping me in your office, cracking jokes and baking me fantastic apple pie."

Brennan's gaze slid down to the counter, breaking eye contact. "There are sometimes when…well, when I don't feel as if I have you figured out at all, Booth." She looked up and took in his concerned gaze. "I know, we've talked and we're okay, I just…"

"You don't still feel like I'm a stranger to you or something, do you?" He carefully placed his fork next to his plate to avoid his first inclination, which was to throw the utensil in frustration.

"No!" She shook her head frantically, which made Booth relax a little. "I know you, Booth." She stood and rounded the counter, moving to straddle his lap. Booth wrapped his arms around her waist and rubbed slow circles on her lower back. "I know quite a bit about you, about the man you are and where you come from and how that shaped you. But I'm a scientist, Booth. And when something interests me as much as you do, I want to learn as much as I can. And with you, especially, I want to know more than I already do now. I want to know _everything_ there is to know about you." She looked down almost shyly at her admission. "And I want to share everything I am with you, as well."

Booth shook his head, words failing him for a moment. No one, including close family, had ever said anything close to what the woman in front of him was revealing to him and he was floored. He knew that his closed-off attitude had hurt her, he just hadn't grasped how deeply.

"Bones. I-" He swallowed over the lump forming in his throat. "I have never been so humbled in my life. The thought that you…that someone like me would interest you, it's staggering to me." He waved off her protest. "It's true. You're a genius, a best-selling author, the best in your field…I'm just a kid from Philly who can shoot straight and has a knack with people. But you make me feel…well, when you look at me, like you are right now? I feel like I'm a hundred feet tall and bulletproof." He smiled and leaned in to kiss her softly. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. But I want to make a deal with you."

Brennan's brow furrowed. "What kind of deal?"

"It'll be fun, Bones. Trust me." He stood, letting her slide off his lap, then took her hand and led her quietly back to the bedroom. They removed their own clothes, neither breaking eye contact until they settled into the pillows, when Booth pulled her up against his chest, cradling her. He laced his fingers with hers tightly. "Bones, there is nothing I want more than to find out everything there is to know about the amazing woman you are, and for some reason you want to hear things about me, so what I propose is that, every night before we go to bed, we share one thing."

Brennan turned her head slightly so she could see his face. "What, specifically? Something about our pasts?"

"Sure, it can be. Or it can be as mundane as what your favorite snack food was as a child."

"Grape popsicles."

Booth chuckled and pulled her closer. "Really? I would not have guessed that, for some reason."

"My father claimed that I spent the entire summer walking around with purple lips." She grinned up at his delighted expression. "Okay…your turn."

Booth turned slightly and stared at the top of her head for a few moments. This compromise had been his idea, inspired by her need for truth…his truth, and he was going to be damn sure that he followed through, no matter how painful it was for him. If he was really, truly intent on sharing a future with this woman, he knew he had to share his past with her as well.

He felt the familiar dread at the idea of opening up about those things he kept buried. He had learned to keep them hidden, to hide it all from the world and from himself. But for this woman he would do anything and that included opening the doors he had once locked tight. He didn't have to share it all right now, it could be something small, just enough to prove to himself and her that he could do this.

"I got lost once," he began. "I was in kindergarten and we took a field trip to the circus." She was listening so closely, soaking every word as if she were committing them to memory. Her need to understand felt like a comfort and he felt the words flowing more freely. "We were supposed to have buddies, you know, someone to hold hands with and stay together? My buddy was Thomas McCaughey and he got sick from eating two hotdogs and a whole bag of cotton candy. So one of the chaperones had to take him away early and when the show was over I had to follow along without anyone. It was a big crowd and I got separated."

He sighed remembering the terror his five-year-old self had felt. "I tried to keep up, but there were too many people and I just kept getting pushed further and further in the wrong direction. Before I knew it, I was outside the big top and I had no idea where my class was."

"Were you scared?" she asked with concern.

Booth smiled amazed at the care she was showing about something that had happened over thirty years ago. "Yeah, I was petrified. I started to cry," he admitted sheepishly.

"Booth, you were only a child."

"I know, but boys don't cry. That was something my father always made sure to tell us and I felt so ashamed, but I couldn't stop. I wandered around trying to find the others and the longer it took the more upset I got." He sighed as he reached the point of his story. "Someone finally noticed. One of the clowns saw me and he came running over. He was still all done up for the show with a crazy wig and this huge nose and giant painted on mouth. He grabbed my arm and made a joke, he was trying to get me to stop crying. But, I freaked out. I was already worked up and he looked scary and I flipped. I screamed and flailed around. He let go of me, I think I freaked him out too, and then I just ran."

"It took them hours to find me. I was hiding, too scared to come out and too confused to realize I was making it worse."

"That's why you hate clowns," Brennan said gently, "Because they remind you of a horrifying childhood experience."

"Yeah. Every time I see one it's like I'm five years old again."

"I'm sorry that happened to you, Booth, but I am very grateful that you shared the memory with me."

He smiled amazed to find this happiness in sharing the story. "I've never told anyone that story, Bones. I'm glad you know it. I want you to know everything." _Feeling as though a boulder had been lifted off his heart and his soul, he turned his head, cupped her cheek, and captured her lips with his. It wasn't just a kiss...it was__the__kiss._

* * *

><p><em><strong>When a man's secret life leads to his murder, the team discovers that there are some things that can never remain hidden. Join us next week for The Weasel in the Pop by Stayuff.<strong>_


	14. The Weasel in the Pop

Episode 6.5x14: The Weasel in the Pop ~ written by Stayuff

"You're crazy. There's no way that's what really happened!" Rhonda exclaimed as she followed her coworker up onto the platform above the batch tank.

Gina nodded. "I'm serious! He was totally hitting on me."

Rhonda laughed. "Mr. Evans is happily married to a jujitsu instructor. Even if he wasn't happily married, I think he knows not to cross a woman who can turn him into a human pretzel."

"He was blatantly staring at my butt and smiling!" Gina shot back as she undid the latch on the batch tank.

Rhonda gasped. "Wait, was this the day before yesterday when you had a stain on the back of those completely awful white jeans you love to wear?"

"Wait! You think he was staring at the stain? Mr. Evans started staring at me less than five minutes after my shift started. That means everybody let me walk around here all day with a stain on my butt? What kind of people do that?"

"The kind of people that think you should have left those jeans back in the 1980s where they belong and were happy to see them destroyed?" Rhonda suggested with a shrug.

"Please, you're just jealous because you can't carry off that look." Gina huffed.

"Gina, nobody can carry off that look and... even if they possibly can, they shouldn't." Rhonda smirked.

"Did I miss the day when you were appointed as the 'Tim Gunn' representative for the Warren Soda Company? Maybe you should just mind your own damn b…" Gina stopped talking as she stared into the tank at the white particles floating on top of the syrup. "What is that? Looks like somebody dumped Styrofoam or something into the batch tank."

Rhonda's eyes got wide as the mixing paddles in the tank pushed something else to the surface. "That's not Styrofoam, Gina."

The two women stared at the skull and femur floating atop the gelatinous mixture. Gina screamed and Rhonda hit the system's emergency stop button before joining Gina's scream with her own.

B&B

Brennan and Booth strode across the production floor of the Warren Soda Company following the sheriff to the crime scene.

"So, our victim is submerged in one of the ingredients used to make a soft drink?" Brennan asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Two employees found him on their morning quality check; he was floatin' in the batch mixer for the syrup they use to make Fuzzy Fizz." The sheriff pointed at the stairs to the platform.

Booth's eyes got wide and he laughed. "Fuzzy Fizz? Man! They still make that stuff? When I lived with Pops, for about a week I was able to convince Pops that it was just fancy fruit juice so it was healthy. Jared and I drank it every day until he decided to taste it and figured out he'd been had."

Brennan rolled her eyes and climbed the stairs. "I have a hard time believing that Hank thought a soft drink was fruit juice. He's a smart man."

"He's a smart man who trusted a kid not to lie to get what amounted to liquid candy. That was not long after we started living with him so I think he was still in the 'breaking in' period, where he had to get used to the idea that basically honest kids still sometimes lie about simple and stupid stuff like candy." Booth followed Brennan up the stairs.

Brennan donned a pair of gloves. "Booth, I'm surprised that you seem to be so cavalier about lying to a man who you hold in such high esteem."

Booth sighed. "Bones, I didn't kill Jimmy Hoffa and then lie to my grandfather about it; I was a kid and I wanted candy, so I bent the truth to get it. It wasn't technically the right thing to do, but it wasn't criminal either."

"Is there a rulebook somewhere of these instances when it's alright to 'bend' the truth and when it's actually lying?" Brennan asked.

Booth sighed again. "Bones, don't we need to get the dead guy out of the Fuzzy Fizz so we can find out who killed him?"

"Right, solve the murder now and discuss the rules of lying later." Brennan nodded as she opened the lid of the batch mixer.

"Ugh! Remind me to throw out all of the boxes of Jell-O in the cabinet when I get home." Booth said under his breath as he looked into the batch tank. "That looks like some sort of creepy Halloween Jell-O."

Brennan smiled. "Gelatin actually contains collagen and bone. You know, for a Halloween party in college we made-"

Booth put his hand over her mouth. "Bones, I'd like to be able to eat Jell-O again at some point in the future. Don't ruin it for me."

Brennan pushed his hand away. "Fine, I won't tell you the story but you're going to wish I had because it was funny." She looked at him haughtily. "You would have laughed... A lot."

Booth chuckled. "Bones, just tell me about our poor unfortunate Jell-O guy."

Brennan nodded. "Victim is male, mid 30s, Caucasian." She retrieved the bright white skull from the syrup mixture. "The bones appear to have been bleached by the chemicals in the syrup. Also, signs of blunt force trauma to the parietal and occipital, but it's difficult to determine if all of this damage was caused by the mixing blades in the tank or not."

"Hmmm... So, the tank could be the murder weapon?" Booth asked.

"It is possible, yes." Brennan conceded.

"So, somebody would have to have pushed him in?"

"I can't be certain, but it is one of the possible scenarios. He could also have fallen into the vat or jumped in. Although, I consider the 'jumping in' and 'falling in' scenarios highly unlikely given that there are countless easier and less unpleasant ways to die and if he fell in, he should have been able to pull himself out before he was seriously injured." Brennan mused. "We're going to need the entire tank, plus the platform."

Booth turned and shouted down to the forensics team. "Take the tank and the platform; send it all to the Jeffersonian."

"You can't take our batch tank! How will we continue to bottle Fuzzy Fizz?" The production manager shouted from the floor.

Booth raised an eyebrow. "You seriously think that the health department is going to let you use this after a dead body was found in it?"

The production manager sighed. "No... I suppose not."

* * *

><p>"Mr. Bray, what is your assessment of the fracture patterns on the bones?" Brennan asked.<p>

Wendell reexamined the x-rays for a moment. "All of the damage is consistent with the blades of the batch mixer, but the blow to the parietal bone was the only fatal one? So, that's cause of death?"

Brennan smiled. "Exactly, so what is our next step?"

"Set tissue markers for Angela so that she can get us an ID and hope to God that Hodgins can figure something out from the giant vat of man-syrup?" Wendell asked.

Brennan raised an eyebrow. "Essentially, however I would request that you refrain from referring to the soft tissue remains as 'man-syrup'."

Hodgins walked up onto the platform looking dejected. "Well, I wouldn't put all your faith in the man-syrup if I were you. Remember how gleaming white and minty fresh the bones were when we scraped off the orange goo?"

"Minty fresh?" Brennan asked.

"I believe he's making a reference to whitening toothpaste, Dr. Brennan," Wendell supplied.

Hodgins nodded as he continued, "Well, it turns out that the good people of the Warren Soda Company destroyed all of my trace evidence."

Brennan's eyebrows shot up. "They destroyed evidence?"

Hodgins shrugged his shoulders. "Probably not intentionally. I mean, unless the murderer turns out to be one of the plant workers. It's part of their production process. They use ultraviolet radiation to sterilize the syrup, which is what whitened the bones and destroyed my trace evidence. Of course, a lot of it would have been eaten away by the corrosive ingredients in the syrup anyway."

"So, the bug man has nothing?" Booth called from below the platform.

Hodgins slouched a bit and grumbled. "I wouldn't say nothing, but... yeah, for now." He stood up straighter as Booth climbed the stairs of the platform. "But, I'll think of something."

"Well, while you're busy with... that... I think I can help us fast track an ID," Booth announced triumphantly. "Have you already given Angela the dental x-rays?"

"Yes, but without something to compare them with, they're useless," Brennan replied.

Booth smiled as he pulled out a memory stick. "Greg Parrish, age 34, of Rockville. He's the only unaccounted for employee. His wife said he never came home after last night's shift and none of his friends have heard from him. His wife gave permission for his dentist to release to us a digital copy of Greg's latest x-rays."

"Take them to Angela and see if they match. Mr. Parrish may be our victim, but he could just as easily be our murderer," Brennan said.

"No activity on his credit cards or bank accounts and his car is still in the parking lot at the plant," Booth smirked. "I think I found our guy."

Hodgins looked up from the bones. "Hey, Booth? When was the last time Greg Parrish was seen?"

"Signed out at 12:45am, he'd stayed behind to finish a little paperwork. He was last seen heading back onto the production floor, said he'd forgotten something."

Hodgins grinned as he scrambled off the platform. "I'm back in the game, baby!"

"That should really frighten me, right?" Booth asked.

"Well, that depends. How terrifying do you find a brow-less Hodgins? Last time he ran off looking that excited about a case, he singed his eyebrows off and had to cut his hair really short to get rid of the burnt parts," Wendell said with a chuckle.

Booth nodded. "Yeah, I guess that means I should leave the expensive shoes at home until this case is over."

"Good call."

B&B

"Bren, did you authorize an order of supplies for Jack?" Angela asked tiredly from the doorway of Brennan's office.

Brennan nodded. "I did. Hodgins said that those substances were essential to confirming time of death. He wants to test the corrosive properties of the syrup to estimate the time it took to dissolve the flesh and clothing so that it can be used to calculate approximate time of death, now that you've positively identified Greg Parrish as the victim. He wants to see if it, as he said, 'jives' with the time Greg Parrish signed out of work."

Angela groaned and walked into the office. "Bren... You know what he's really doing in there, don't you?"

"No, but your tone indicates that it's something bad."

Angela sighed as she sank down in the chair opposite her friend. "Bren, he's in there playing Mythbusters, the home game."

Brennan's eyes lit up. "There's a home game? That sounds exceptionally unwise; given the dangerous nature of many of their experiments, but it is an intriguing notion."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Too literal, Brennan. But, not far off. I'm fairly certain that the box he's carrying around the lab contains stuff he's pilfered from people's workstations that he wants to try to dissolve with Fuzzy Fizz."

Brennan rose from her desk and walked to the door. "Dr. Hodgins!"

Hodgins froze, box in hand and looked up at her guiltily. "Yes?"

"Return any items that were acquired without the owner's knowledge and consent, as well as any acquired under false pretenses. The owners must be aware that there property will likely not be returnable."

Hodgins sulked as he started taking items out of his box. "Fine. I may need to go buy some things, though."

"Be frugal and keep your receipts," Brennan said as she returned to her desk.

"That's ALL? Seriously, Bren? You just told him it's okay to destroy stuff as long as he doesn't steal, overspend or forget to save his receipts," Angela said incredulously. "You do realize that he's going to want to test the effects of that syrup on things not related to the case, don't you?"

Brennan looked up and saw the doors to the lab closing behind Hodgins and sighed as she picked up her phone and dialed. "Dr. Hodgins, you may only experiment on items used to mimic human flesh and common items that may have been on his person."

Angela laughed when she heard her husband's frustrated shout through the phone, "No fair!"

"So, you've seen Mythbusters, Bren?" asked Angela.

Brennan smiled, "Yes, it's the one television show that Booth and I both enjoy equally. Though the frivolity of the cast often overshadows the danger involved in their work, the science is generally sound. Plus, it is quite amusing."

Angela chuckled. "That's cute, Bren. I'm glad you guys found something to watch together. That show sounds like a perfect fit for the two of you. So, do you have a favorite Mythbuster?"

Brennan nodded, "Grant."

"Grant? Really? But, Tory's so hot."

Brennan laughed. "I admit that Tory is aesthetically pleasing and quite talented in his own right, but I believe that Grant is the most well rounded of all the Mythbusters. He's an engineer, so science and mathematics are important to him, but he's also quite willing and able to laugh at himself."

"You have a crush on Grant!"

Brennan blushed. "I do not. I simply respect him as a scientist and a television presenter."

"Crush!"

"You're behaving like an adolescent."

"That's because you have a little teenage girlie crush on Grant Imahara. Does Booth know?" Angela asked.

"He knows and he thinks it's cute and harmless," Booth said with a smile as he walked in and kissed his girlfriend. "When you stop blushing, Bones, we've got a few interviews lined up at the Hoover."

Brennan rolled her eyes and stood. "If you're done mocking me, we should probably go."

"After you, Bones. After you." Booth said as he ushered her out of the room.

B&B

"Mr. Evans, how long have you been the production manager for the Warren Soda Company?" Booth asked.

"Six years as production manager and seventeen as the Quality Manager. I trained Greg Parrish when he was being groomed to take over as Quality Manager," Evans answered.

Booth nodded slightly. "So, you knew Mr. Parrish well?"

Evans smiled slightly. "I'd like to think so. I became sort of a mentor to him when he joined the Quality group. He was a good inspector, dedicated to learning more than just what boxes needed to be checked but why they needed to be checked. Greg was that dependable guy who everybody wanted on their team. He seemed quite driven to prove himself and if that was his mission, then he succeeded. I'd already had conversations with the plant manager about him taking my job when I retire in a few years."

Brennan spoke up. "You've spoken about your knowledge of his professional life. What do you know about his personal life? Do you know if he was experiencing any domestic issues?"

Evans shook his head. "Greg was the same outside of work as he was at work. Dependable, kind, but determined to succeed. He has a nice family, a wife and two boys. Trent is 15 and Ryan is 9. You never saw a prouder father and the way he doted on his wife? Let's just say, he made other husbands look bad."

"How so?" Brennan asked.

Evans smiled warmly. "He sent his wife flowers every week and never forgot a birthday or anniversary."

"Sounds like a good guy," Booth commented.

"You don't know the half of it. Everyone in the Quality group rotates to cover second shift; it works out to about three days a month." Evans explained. "Greg never complained. When his children were younger and he would pull second shift, he'd hire a babysitter and have dinner delivered to the plant by a longtime friend of his who owns a restaurant so that he and his wife could still eat together. Once Trent was old enough to watch Ryan on his own, he stopped hiring the babysitter but they kept up the tradition of eating together on his second shift nights."

"Did they eat together on the night that Greg Parrish disappeared?" Booth asked.

Evans nodded. "According to the security logs they did. Olivia signed the guest logs at 8, as usual. Greg's dinner break began at 8:15 and she signed out again at 8:50."

"Did Greg have any other visitors sign in that night?" Booth asked.

"Just his friend who delivered the food, Steve Garrett. He owns Il Bello Pasto in Georgetown," Evans said with a slight shrug. "Nothing that happened the night Greg died was out of the ordinary. I wish I had more information for you, but the only two visitors he had that night were the two people in the world who would have gone to hell and back for him."

Brennan shook her head. "Mr. Evans, you've actually been very helpful." She paused at a glance from Booth. "You provided us with a clearer timeline of the night Greg Parrish died and that is extremely valuable information."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Evans," Booth said as he and Brennan rose from the table to escort Evans from room.

B&B

"So, we're just going to ask her about her husband and hope that she reveals motive to us? Statistically, she is the most likely suspect. Booth, you're the one who usually says, 'It's always the wife'! Why is this time different?" Brennan asked impatiently as she looked through the window into the interrogation room where Olivia and Trent Parrish were sitting.

Sweets interjected. "Because, Dr. Brennan, we have two most likely suspects based on the information Mr. Evans provided. You can't afford to tip your hand early and be wrong. Plus, if you go after her and she's not the killer, then you've verbally terrorized a woman who just lost her husband."

"Besides, she has her 15 year old son in there with her. We can't go after her until we get her alone," Booth added.

"Well, I'll let you know if I see anything that warrants asking Trent to leave the room." Sweets said.

Booth and Brennan nodded at Sweets, stepped out of the observation room and into the interrogation room.

"Mrs. Parrish, Trent... I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth and this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian. We appreciate you agreeing to speak to us today, when we know that you still have so much to deal with as a family." Booth said sympathetically as he and Brennan sat down at the table.

Olivia Parrish nodded tearfully. "Yes, thank you, Agent Booth. It has been so hard."

"But, we're glad to do anything we can to help you catch the person who did this to my Dad." Trent added.

Booth pensively said, "That's exactly what we're here to do, Trent. Mrs. Parrish, what can you tell us about your husband? What would you like us to know about him?"

"He was my rock, my everything. We started dating when we were sixteen years old and never dated anyone else. When my father died the summer after high school graduation, he was really there for me; you know? He listened while I cried and even cried with me." She sobbed. "He was wonderful. All of my girlfriends said I was so lucky to have such a strong, attentive, and still sensitive man. When I found out I was pregnant with Trent several weeks later, he proposed. The amazing man I loved wanted to marry me and raise a family with me. I'd have been a fool to say no. Besides, I knew that Greg didn't just marry me out of a sense of duty; he loved me, too." Olivia smiled sadly.

"Yeah, Dad really did love Mom. He once told me that he didn't know how he got to be lucky enough for her to love him back. Dad never seems..." Trent's face paled slightly, "…seemed to understand how great he is... was."

Brennan looked at Booth before she turned to Trent, "What do you mean by that, Trent?"

"He... I don't know, he always got embarrassed and sometimes even a little upset if you went on too much about how great he was. Like he didn't think he deserved the praise," Trent replied.

"Did he seem upset about anything recently?" Booth asked.

Trent nodded with a rueful smile, "My learner's permit. I turned 15 a few days ago and he wanted me to wait to get my permit. Said I didn't need to rush into something as risky as driving without being really sure I was ready for the responsibility. He even told me that he was going to make me wait six months, just to make sure that I was really ready. Dad could be really overprotective sometimes, especially about driving and cars."

"Why do you think that is?" Booth asked.

"Because my grandpa, Mom's father, was killed in a hit and run while he was out jogging. He told me that he thought most people saw driving as a right, but it was a privilege and not to be taken lightly. He just wanted to keep me safe." Trent choked out a sob.

Olivia put her arms around Trent. "I'm sorry. If you have any other questions, we'll be happy to answer them but I think I need to get my son home now."

Booth nodded, "Yes, of course. Thank you again for your time, both of you. We'll be in touch."

Booth and Brennan exited the room and went to see what Sweets had to say.

* * *

><p>"She was telling the truth," Sweets said.<p>

Booth glared at him. "Your high-powered degrees are going to pack up and leave on their own if that's all you really have to say."

Sweets smirked. "In all the time that you've known me, have I ever had that little to say about my observations of an interview?"

Brennan shook her head. "No, you can be quite loquacious. It has been alternately annoying and endearing, depending on the situation."

Sweets laughed. "Thanks. Anyway, I was going to say that Olivia Parrish was telling the truth when she spoke, but all of her statements were about a specific time in her life. She was recounting old memories that are dear to her, which she has clearly retold fondly before. The really interesting thing is how she changed when Trent started talking about driving. She got silent, but she never took her eyes off her son."

"Yeah, I saw that," Booth said. "She kind of looked like she was scared he might accidentally say too much. The kid seemed oblivious, though."

"Totally. Trent Parrish seems to be just dealing with genuine grief and shock. He clearly loved his father very much. I don't think he knows anything about why his dad died," Sweets said.

"He did allude to the fact that his father was dealing with some feelings of inadequacy, though. I did read that one correctly, didn't I?" Brennan asked.

Booth smiled. "Yeah, Bones. You got that one right."

"Exactly, Dr. Brennan. Greg Parrish, seemingly perfect guy, didn't think he was perfect. In fact, based on Trent's statements, he seemed to have had a rather notable inferiority complex. It's almost like he was trying to atone for something," Sweets said.

Booth nodded. "Yeah, but what did Greg Parrish have to atone for? He and Olivia got together when they were 16 and never separated. It's not like he's some ex-mobster living under an assumed name or that he used to be a woman or something."

"If Greg Parrish had been a woman, he would have been unable to father Olivia's children," Brennan supplied.

Booth rolled his eyes and smiled. "Yes, Bones. I know that. Hyperbole, exaggeration. These are just all part of the varied tapestry that is Seeley Booth."

Brennan laughed. "'The varied tapestry that is Seeley Booth'? Just because we're romantically involved, it doesn't mean that I'm going to let you get away with saying ridiculously pompous things like that. You are an amazing man, Booth, but if you refer to yourself in third person like that again you're likely to find yourself sleeping on the floor."

"Not the couch, Bones? Women usually make their boyfriends and husbands sleep on the couch when they have an argument."

Brennan smirked. "I'm not cruel, Booth. That couch is not good for your back. If I ever kicked you out of bed, I'd let you sleep on the air mattress on the living room floor."

Booth smiled. "Thanks, Bones."

Sweets cleared his throat. "Um, guys? Still at work? Talking about the case?"

Booth looked chagrined, "Oh, yeah. Okay, I just don't understand what kind of skeletons this guy could have in his closet. If he had a secret life to be ashamed of, he hid it very well."

Sweets looked up from his notes. "Check out his driving history. Olivia's reaction to Trent talking about the learner's permit and driving in general is the key. I'd focus on the earliest parts of his driving history."

"What are you expecting to see on his driving history?" Brennan asked.

"Hopefully, confirmation of my theories," Sweets replied.

"Is that the psychology version of Booth's 'gut feelings'?" Brennan asked.

Sweets smiled. "Bingo."

B&B

The next morning, Turner walked into Booth's office carrying a folder.

"I got that information you wanted, Boss."

Booth accepted the file from the agent and started thumbing through it. "Thanks, Turner."

As soon as the rookie agent left the room, he picked up his phone and called his partner. "Hey, Bones? Turner brought me some information on Greg Parrish. Sweets was right."

"About his driving record?" Brennan asked as she sat down to the large stack of paperwork on her desk; she would be glad when Cam returned from maternity leave.

"Yeah, he had a couple of DUIs the summer after he graduated from high school," Booth said as he continued flipping through the file.

"Around the same time that Olivia Parrish's father died," Brennan concluded.

"Yeah, so maybe he saw it as a wakeup call?" Booth asked.

"An illustration of the true perils of drinking and driving? Perhaps. That would make sense with what Trent said about his father's feelings about responsible driving," Brennan agreed.

"Yeah, but it's almost like he felt personal guilt about his father-in-law's death. Like he felt somehow responsible," Booth said.

"Well, Trent said the case was never solved."

Booth nodded. "Yeah, that's true. Olivia's father, Matthew Grantham, was killed in a hit and run. From what I found, there were no witnesses. It happened around sunset, when he was out jogging."

"Were you able to get access to the coroner's reports?" Brennan asked.

"No, but the police report says that the coroner's initial observations at the scene were that cause of death was most likely the head hitting the curb after the car struck him."

"That's not surprising. What's the idiom? 'It's not the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop at the end,'" Brennan asked.

Booth chuckled. "Not exactly a sympathetic response, but you did use the idiom correctly."

Brennan frowned. "I wasn't expressing personal feelings. I was merely pointing out one of the rare occasions where a popular idiom had a basis in fact."

Booth smiled. "I know, Bones, and it's pretty cute."

"Haven't I made my feelings clear on the use of the word cute?" Brennan said sternly.

"You have and it actually makes you cuter. Bones, it's not demeaning. Smart women can be cute, adorable even. No single word could be expected to sum up all of who you are, so why should you be insulted when I use one word that's just a part of what makes you my Bones?"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "If you weren't such an honest man, you would have made an excellent lawyer. You're very persuasive."

"Yes. I. Am," Booth said cockily.

"Do you have anything else pertinent to the case or are you just going to engage in cocky innuendo?" Brennan asked.

Booth smiled. "Fine, fine. Bones. Let me look at the file."

"Okay."

Booth flipped through the pages in the file. "Well, here's something interesting."

"What?"

"Guess who was riding with Greg Parrish one of the times he was arrested?"

"Who?" Brennan asked.

"Steve Garrett."

* * *

><p>"Jack Stanley Hodgins! What the hell are you doing?" Angela asked as she walked into the Ookey room.<p>

Hodgins looked up guiltily from the gelatinous, oozing items he was fishing out of a small, metal tank. "Science?"

Angela covered her mouth in disgust. "Oh my god. Was that pile of goo once a pig?"

"Human analog," Hodgins replied happily.

"That's 'Mythbuster' for pig. Jack... We're not watching that show anymore. It gives good scientists bad ideas," Angela said.

Hodgins laughed. "Angie, you don't mean that. You'd never give up the chance to watch Tory onscreen. Besides, you already decided which Mythbuster you are. Come on, you love that show."

"Of course I know which Mythbuster I am! I'm Kari, artist with scientific interests? It's so obvious." Angela smirked.

Hodgins put the 'human analog' into a clear container and looked up at his wife. "Which one am I?"

"You? You're kind of like a frightening hybrid of Tory and Adam. Adorable, smart, goofy and dangerous," Angela replied with a grin.

Hodgins grinned as he took off his gloves. "You know it, baby."

"So, who on the team is our Grant?" Angela asked.

Hodgins scoffed. "Too easy! Cam is so a Grant."

Angela laughed. "You know, this sort of reminds me of when women used to talk about which character from Sex in the City they were."

Hodgins stopped smiling. "No, it isn't. Angela, please don't compare a conversation with your husband to a chick chat."

Angela laughed harder. "I call 'em like a see 'em, babe. By the way, Bren is totally a Jamie."

"Is that some sort of new colloquialism? Should I be offended at its meaning?" Brennan asked as she walked into the room.

Angela chuckled. "No, Bren. We were just saying that if everyone on our team correlated to the Mythbusters that you would be Jamie, minus the bald head and crazy mustache."

Brennan smiled. "Of course. I consider that a compliment. Jamie is very exacting and has high scientific standards. I respect his methods. So, who is everyone else?"

"I'm Kari, Hodgins is a Tory/Adam hybrid, and Cam is Grant," Angela replied.

Brennan nodded her approval. "Agreed. So, who is Booth?"

Hodgins grinned. "He's the announcer. He's a big goofball who tries to be serious and doesn't seem to know that he's a big goofball."

Brennan laughed. "That is very fitting! Nicely done, Dr. Hodgins." She looked at the container with the 'human analog'. "Have you made any progress on confirming time of death based on the effects of the syrup mixture on flesh?"

Hodgins nodded. "I'm not done, but I am narrowing the window a bit. This sample was in the syrup for eight hours, the amount of time between when Greg Parrish signed out and the time his body was discovered. I built a scaled down version of the batch tank, complete with proportional paddles to agitate the mixture."

"That does look consistent with the consistency of the victim's flesh." Brennan nodded approvingly.

Hodgins pointed at another sample. "This is the seven hour sample."

Brennan's eyebrows rose. "Really? The flesh is much more intact. I wouldn't have expected there to be such a considerable difference."

Angela nodded. "Yeah, it's not nearly as gross as the first sample. Still gross, but definitely a big difference."

"Science, baby. Science. The flesh and soft tissue wasn't fully penetrated by the syrup until after the seven hour mark."

"So, he died within an hour of signing out?" Angela asked.

"According to the human analog Jell-O, yes," Hodgins confirmed.

B&B

Booth looked at Sweets briefly before he spoke to their new number one suspect. "Mr. Garrett..."

"Steve," The red haired man insisted.

Booth nodded. "Steve, Dr. Sweets and I would like to talk to you about your friendship with Greg Parrish. I understand that the two of you have been friends since high school."

Steve smiled. "Yeah, I met him on the first day of ninth grade. Mrs. Tolliver's homeroom."

"So, the two of you were buds from the start?" Sweets asked.

"From the moment I flung a rubber band and hit Mrs. Tolliver in the back of the head and he told her Ray Wheelus did it," Steve replied.

Sweets grinned. "Sometimes the best friendships form over the simplest things."

"Yeah, it was good to have someone to watch my back, especially the next summer when we both started working for my Dad."

"What did he do to watch your back then?" Booth asked.

Steve shrugged. "Normal stuff. Made me look good when a girl I liked came in the restaurant. Covered for me when I was smoking pot behind the restaurant on my break. Of course, I did the same for him. I actually introduced him to Olivia."

"So, were you guys also drinking buddies?" Booth asked.

Steve nodded with a sheepish smile. "Yeah, we were idiots back then. We used to stockpile bottles of beer that we stole from the restaurant for Friday night parties. We even got nabbed for DUI a few times. One time, Greg was driving and we were both drunk when we got pulled over." His face darkened. "We both thought our parents were going to kill us for that one, but they didn't. It was a pretty carefree time. But all of that changed after Mr. Grantham got killed. Suddenly, it wasn't so fun anymore because it could easily have been one of us on another night. I think a close shave with a deer the day before Mr. Grantham's accident also helped Greg decide to make a change."

"You're sure it was the day before?" Booth asked as he exchanged a glance with Sweets.

"Pretty sure. That's what he told Mark Sollecito a few days later when he asked him to help fix his truck. He didn't want to call the insurance company because of the DUIs he'd had; he was sure they'd drop him."

"You said he changed around that time. How so?" Sweets asked.

"All of us changed a little. Drank less, didn't drive drunk anymore, cut back on the pot. But Greg? He may as well have stepped into the phone booth as Clark Kent and come out as Superman. I mean, Greg was always a good guy but after Mr. Grantham was killed he became the ultimate good guy. He stopped drinking completely, cut back on partying, and became the designated driver for every party he was at. Plus, he became even more devoted to Olivia than he already was. When Olivia told him she was pregnant, most guys our age probably would have freaked out and tried to find a way to escape but Greg didn't flinch. He proposed and they were married three weeks later."

"We've heard that they had the ideal marriage. Was it always so perfect?" Booth asked.

Steve nodded. "Yup, they almost never really fought. They disagreed about some stuff but it never got ugly and they always worked it out quickly."

"Now, you delivered their meal to the plant on the night that Greg died; right?" Booth asked.

"Yeah, I did. Same as always."

"How did they seem? Happy? Tense?" Sweets asked.

Steve's brow furrowed. "Actually, they seemed a little off. I mean, I guess they'd had a disagreement about something. Probably Trent's learner's permit, but Olivia looked really mad. I know they could have worked through it if they'd had the chance, though. They just didn't have enough time."

Booth looked at Sweets and nodded as they both stood. "Thanks for coming in, Steve. We'll let you know if we have any more questions."

As soon as the door closed behind them, Booth sighed. "The next one's all you, shrink boy. We need to get the wife back in here and find out what that fight was about."

B&B

The next afternoon, Booth and Brennan stood on the other side of the glass and watched Dr. Lance Sweets open the door to the interrogation room.

Brennan smiled at Booth. "He's been watching you. I think he's finally perfected the nonchalant, but somehow still sympathetic walk into the room."

Booth grinned. "He had it before. I just made him buy shoes that grip the floor a little better."

Brennan laughed and they both turned their attention back to the interrogation room.

"Thanks again for coming back in, Mrs. Parrish," Sweets said as he sat down across from Olivia.

"I don't really know what else I can tell you about Greg."

"We spoke to Steve Garrett and he said that it seemed as though the two of you were in the midst of a disagreement on the night that Greg was killed."

Olivia frowned sadly. "Dr. Sweets, my husband and I had a continuing disagreement about our son getting his learner's permit. Unfortunately, my last words to my husband were spoken in anger."

"That must be difficult to deal with, Mrs. Parrish," Sweets said sympathetically.

Olivia dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "My husband was a wonderful man. I'm thankful that my children know just how much he loved them. It's important to know that you are truly cherished and my children know that their father cherished them.

"Well, everyone we've talked to said the same complimentary things about him that you did but Steve did mention that Greg wasn't always that way. He said that he was always a basically good guy, but he wasn't always the ultimate good guy. He said that the change seemed to take place around the time of your father's death. Like that tragedy suddenly flipped the switch for him and he just immediately grew up."

"We all changed after my father died, understandably. Loss changes people."

"It does, but it seems to have changed Greg for the better. He seemed to be inspired to make a positive change in his life and that's quite admirable." Sweets said, noticing the way that Olivia's jaw tightened.

"Yes, he did step up and become an amazing father," Olivia said tensely.

"And an amazing husband. I mean, he sent you flowers every week! I like to think that I'm a caring and attentive boyfriend, but I've never sent a woman flowers every week. That's a seriously romantic man. He clearly loved you very much," Sweets said with a gentle smile.

Olivia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It was a mask, just smoke and mirrors. None of it was real," She said quietly.

"How so?"

Olivia laughed bitterly, but kept her head down. "He was a good actor; I'll give him that and I do think he genuinely loved the boys, but I just can't believe the rest of it now that I know."

"Now that you know what?" Sweets asked.

She looked up at him with angry tears in her eyes. "He killed my father! Back then he fed me some story about hitting a deer, but it was a lie. It was all a lie. Everything. Our entire married life! Don't you understand? He lived this life looking like the noble, dutiful husband but he lied to me every day to keep up the illusion."

"How do you know he killed your father?" Sweets prodded gently.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper, slamming it down on the table. "The coward wrote it in his suicide note! He was apparently too big of a coward to even go through with that, because I found it that night, before I went to meet him for dinner, and it was dated three days earlier." She looked into Sweets' eyes. "I couldn't let him get away with that. I had to hear it directly from him. After nearly 16 years of marriage, he owed me that!"

"So you confronted him at the plant," Sweets said.

"Not right away. I tried to give him a chance to say it without me having to ask, so I hinted around that he'd been different lately and I started talking about my Dad and about Trent getting his permit. He got angry about the permit, but wouldn't talk about anything else. As if the learner's permit was all this was about!"

"So, you left after the meal and he went back to work?" Sweets asked.

"Yes, but I never left the parking lot. I just couldn't get away from the thought that he needed to tell me. But, I also knew that wasn't a conversation we could have with all of the second shift people hanging around so I waited until thirty minutes after his shift ended and snuck back inside." Tears streamed down Olivia's face.

"You confronted him then," Sweets stated.

Olivia nodded. "I found him up on platform above one of the tanks, checking things one last time. He usually checked all of the gauges and looked in on the syrup mixture before he left, said he slept better knowing for certain that he'd left things in good shape since third shift is very lightly staffed. Anyway, I went up to talk to him and I could see on his face that he knew I knew. He started crying. The bastard had the gall to cry as if _he_ was the one who was hurt."

"Did he confess?"

"He did. He said, 'I didn't know what to do, Liv. He was gone by the time I got out of the car. I was a kid and I was scared, so I ran.'" Olivia pounded her fist on the table. "He 'ran'. Well, he didn't run far enough! He could have just disappeared. He didn't have to build this fake life with me! It was bad enough not knowing who killed my father, but finding out that my life wasn't _real_? It was just too much."

"What did you do then?"

"I pushed him and he fell into the open door on the tank. He caught himself and managed to hold on to the rim of the opening, but I couldn't let him save himself! I uncurled his fingers from the rim and he dropped inside. I closed the door and left." Olivia wiped her tears. "I felt it was better for my kids to lose their father and still believe that he was a good man, instead of finding out about the monster he truly was."

Sweets looked up at the observation window and nodded. Booth walked in and cuffed Olivia Parrish while he read her her rights. Brennan stayed in the observation room, watching the scene with tears in her eyes. She had no sympathy for the murderer, but she knew something of the horror those boys were facing at finding out their parents were not who they thought they were.

* * *

><p>Booth eased the truck out of his parking space at the Hoover Building and grinned at his partner. "So, Bones. Are you ready for a weekend of no holds barred, full on, Booth boy's fun?"<p>

Brennan chuckled. "We're going swimming, going on a morning hike, playing video games and watching cartoons. You make it sound like we're going to some sort of amusement park where wrestling is encouraged. I've spent time with the two of you on weekends before; I know that such an amusement park is not on the agenda."

"I'm just excited to see Parker and ready to shake off this case. I need some serious father-son-Bones time to wash away the stuff we saw this week."

Brennan nodded seriously. "I understand. I can't help but see myself and Russ in the Parrish children. Their world has been destroyed by lies."

"Yeah, but your parents lied to protect you."

"Greg Parrish lied to protect his children, too."

Booth sighed. "Yeah, I guess he did."

"A lie is always a lie, even if it's told with kind intentions," Brennan stated.

"True, but not every lie is cruel. Besides, some lies are told knowing that the other person knows it's a lie."

"Could you give me an example?" Brennan asked.

Booth grinned. "When a woman asks if her butt looks fat in a certain pair of jeans, she already knows how it looks; she's just asking for reassurance. So, unless the look is completely hideous and you know she'd be mad you let her go out that way, you tell her 'no, of course not, baby.'"

Brennan smiled in spite of herself. "As patronizing as that example was, I see your point. If the lie is told to build someone up, not unnecessarily, but to reinforce their already existing feelings, it can be an act of kindness."

Booth nodded. "Clearly, it's a fine line in many cases, but you've got to use your best judgment. Anyway, sometimes the truth can be even crueler than the lie."

"Like when that woman at Hank's retirement community incessantly asks where her husband is and Hank tells her he just stepped out to buy her some flowers?" Brennan asked.

Booth smiled. "Exactly, Bones. Pops knows that she has Alzheimer's and her husband has been dead for fifteen years, but he lies to her because making her mourn her husband's loss four hundred times a day is crueler than a little kind lie."

Brennan nodded her understanding. "While truth should always be the goal, sometimes we owe people the kindness of a lie."

Booth smiled affectionately at the woman in his life as they pulled up in front of his son's school. _When the universe teaches a lesson, Temperance Brennan is on the front row taking notes._

* * *

><p><em><strong>When a case leads Booth and Brennan into the kinkier side of life and relationships, they discover more than just who committed the murder. Join us next week for the Dominant in the Dumbwaiter by Rynogeny.<strong>_


	15. The Dominant in the Dumbwaiter

Season 6.5 x 15: The Dominant in the Dumbwaiter ~ Written by Rynogeny

Empty hotels felt very different from empty houses, Louise Gregory reflected to herself as she stepped into the lobby of the old hotel. She'd been a realtor long enough to be familiar with both and houses, even old ones, always spoke of potential. They were future-oriented; the couples that toured residences would ask themselves, 'How can we make a home here?' But a vacant hotel simply felt creepy. There was too much past there, too many stories. And this one was no exception.

She glanced at the three potential buyers she was showing the property to and based on the weight of her experience again, judged her chances of a sale as minimal. The married couple both appeared to be in their mid-fifties and the wife's sister was a few years older. Together, they owned three successful bed-and-breakfasts in Virginia and wanted to expand into a hotel. The idea conflicted with Louise's image of B&Bs as homey and locally owned by people who lived on the property, and that was a bit disgruntling, but it still didn't mean they'd be able to convince a bank they could restore and run a hotel.

Then again, who knew what a bank would do? And if they did make an offer on it, and if a bank did agree to the loan, and the amount was anywhere near the asking price, her part of the commission might be enough for her to retire. It was time; she was tired of showing endless properties to people who'd invariably buy from someone else, tired of the economy making people think homes should be free, just …tired. Thirty years was long enough.

.

"The Hyperion was built in 1923," she said, clearing her throat. Time to get this show on the road, her feet hurt. "For many years, it was one of Washington's premiere hotels."

"It looks as if it's been well preserved," Marlene Edgar said. She was the wife and Louise had already figured out that she was the one in charge -she might as well have been wearing a sign.

Thomas Edgar, the husband, was looking at a clipboard. A mousy man, he was a few inches shorter – and quite a few pounds lighter – than his wife. "That's surprising. Says here that it was converted to condos in the 90's. I'd have expected them to wreck all the charm of the place," he muttered.

"It was converted," Louise said smoothly. "But it was bought out and restored as a hotel a few years before the economy crashed." And promptly failed, which should give anyone pause about attempting the same again, but she didn't say so.

"Fools didn't know what they were doing," Marlene sniffed.

The sister, Wilma, spoke for the first time. "Isn't there a group who's trying to get it on the Historical Register?"

Marlene spoke before Louise could. "Yes. And that will be an advantage for us."

"It will also limit the kinds of changes we can make to it," Wilma pointed out.

Marlene shrugged. "Not if we don't want to make significant changes in the first place." She looked around. "Well, let's see what's what. I don't want to spend all day here."

They walked around the lobby, investigated the grand staircase that led to the circling balcony on the second floor, then began working their way through some of the non-public areas on the first floor. _It really was in good condition for its age and history_, Louise thought, and the hope that she might wrangle a sale out of it grew.

They moved from the offices toward what had been the kitchens. "At one point, the Italian restaurant here, 'Angelo's', was famous in its own right," Louise said, hoping that would be a selling point, maybe they'd want to try their hand at a restaurant as well as the hotel.

Marlene made a 'hmmm' noise in her throat that sounded promising and Thomas jotted a note on his clipboard. Wilma frowned, "We couldn't do Italian," she said. "I'm allergic to tomatoes."

They walked into the kitchen, and a chill slid down Louise's spine. It was darker than the other areas they'd been in, and again, she thought it all just felt …creepy. It smelled and as she flipped the lights on she was hoping not to see any rats. She detested all furry things with long tails, they were bad for business.

The kitchen must have been renovated when they did one of the conversions, but not totally so. The enormous stove didn't look to be over fifteen years old, nor did the refrigerators. But in one corner, not particularly well-lit, there was a dumbwaiter still in the wall that looked like it had been there since Angelo was reigning supreme with his pasta.

"What is that in the dumbwaiter?" Wilma asked.

At first, Louise told herself it had to be an old Halloween decoration but as she took in the human skull, the rotting flesh, the rope, and tried desperately to convince her that that was exactly what it was. Her nose, though, said differently, and she turned away, retching as Wilma began to scream.

Regaining her composure by sheer will, Louise reached for her phone, grimly reflecting that yes, empty hotels were creepier than houses. And damn it, this was definitely going to scuttle her dreams of retirement. She looked over at Marlene, who was staring into the dumbwaiter with a thoughtful look on her face. Or maybe not.

"Hmm," Marlene said. "A hotel with a body, maybe circulate some ghost rumors. We might be able to work with that."

B&B

Booth stared into the dumbwaiter, a puzzled frown on his face. The body was in what he considered the grossest stage of decomp – plenty of bones visible, but with a lot of tissue slipping and sliding off and around. But it wasn't really the body that was holding his interest, it was the rope. There was a lot of it, wrapped and knotted all around the corpse. It wasn't just the amount, which seemed excessive given the probable size of the victim, it was the way it was positioned, and the intricate way it was tied.

"Someone took getting their knot badge _way_ too seriously," he said before looking at Brennan. For the first time, he realized that she appeared to be more interested in the rope than in the remains, too. "What do you have, Bones?"

"These knots are tied in a very specific pattern, Booth."

Her expression and the very fact that she was so interested in the rope, forestalled another wisecrack. "What do you mean?"

"I would rather not speculate until I research it, but it reminds me of a pattern I saw once."

"A possible clue to the killer, then." He turned back, eyed the rope speculatively. "What do you have on the victim?"

She was frowning. "The skull suggests Caucasian male. His position, with his legs pulled up toward his torso, makes it difficult to say conclusively, as it's impossible to judge height and I can't clearly see his pelvic region." She leaned forward with her flashlight, stared intently into the victim's mouth. "Possibly in his late thirties. I'll know more once we get him back to the lab." She shone the light down what was left of the torso. "Booth."

He told himself if the body hadn't been at the stage of decomp it was in, he would have noticed it sooner. As it was, it was such a mess of flesh, rope, and bone, he was proud he noticed it when he did. "He's naked. Or what's left of him."

Brennan nodded. "There's no sign of clothing, and yet they wouldn't have decomposed if the rope hadn't."

Booth shook his head, "This is wonderful. A naked guy trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and left in an empty hotel." When Brennan turned and looked at him with an amused smile, he looked directly at her and whined, "You know the worst part? I'm not even surprised anymore by this stuff."

Brennan's attention had again turned from the body, this time to the dumbwaiter. "We need the dumbwaiter at the lab. I'd prefer to leave the body in it and undisturbed, if possible. Taking him out will disturb the way the rope is knotted."

Booth looked at how the dumbwaiter was designed and grimaced. "Right." He motioned to the techs standing nearby. "Take as many photos and as much video as you can, especially of the rope, then transport the whole thing back to the Jeffersonian."

BREAK

"I take it you want to go back to the lab?" Booth asked as they settled into the SUV.

Brennan shook her head. "Not necessarily. Cam's back today, remember?"

He checked traffic and then pulled onto the street. "Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten that was today. Think it will stick this time?"

"I spoke to her on Friday and she sounded much more relaxed about being away from Macon."

"Are you ready for her to be back?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know…you've been big boss in charge for a while."

Brennan gave him a bland look. "I expanded my skill set and benefited from the experience of managing the lab in Cam's absence, Booth, but it confirmed for me that I much prefer having her there. I believe she actually enjoys 'wrangling' the interns, to use her term, and making certain that Hodgins doesn't do any permanent damage. I would rather concentrate on our cases."

He suppressed a smile. "So, no need to race back to the lab to supervise her the way you were the FBI pathologist who's been doing the autopsies?"

"I trust Cam," she said primly. "The pathologist on loan to us performed perfectly adequately, but there is nothing wrong with my having made certain of it."

"Of course not," he said, his tone full of affection. "But I'm glad things are going to be back to normal."

"So where are we headed?"

"To the real estate office that has the hotel listed, to find out who's been in there lately. The woman who was showing it today wasn't from the company that has it listed, so she didn't have that information."

"I heard one of the techs say there was no sign of a break-in."

"Nope. I verified that. All doors and windows secure, and not a functioning camera on any of them."

They fell silent, and her mood seemed to shift. He tried to puzzle it out, then finally asked, "What's up, Bones? What's happening in that genius brain of yours?"

Humor lit her eyes for a moment before she gave the expected response. "A great many chemical and electrical reactions are occurring in my brain right now, as is always the case. Which ones in specific are you inquiring about?"

"What are you thinking about? Why are you so quiet?"

"The rope and the way it's knotted. The more I consider it, the more it resembles a photo I saw once of Japanese bondage."

He glanced at her. "Given his nudity…as in kinky sex bondage?"

"'Kinky' is a pejorative term, Booth. Just because it's unconventional doesn't mean there's anything wrong with it."

_You'd think these kinds of conversations would be easier now that they were having sex_, Booth thought, _especially since not all of it was exactly conventional_, he added with a private smirk. But somehow it wasn't, particularly when his imagination wanted to go in directions it didn't have any business going in when they were in the SUV. Deciding not to continue down that path, verbally or mentally, he said, "Right. Sexual bondage, though, right? Not some weird form of non-sexual slavery?"

"No, though there's a lot more to a dominant/submissive relationship than just sex."

That, too, he ignored for the moment. "Sex games that got out of control?"

"It's too early for that kind of speculation," she responded, reprimand clear in her voice. "Though if that's the case, it seems as if it would be clear from cause of death, once we've determined that."

"There was a rope around his neck. It's hard to tell from the decomp, but it didn't look tight enough to have strangled him."

"The photos I saw of Kinbaku had a loop around the neck, but no, it wouldn't have been sufficient to cause strangulation. The lower part ended in a knot above the heart before looping off around the torso."

Booth checked an address he'd written down on a note card and pulled up in front of a small, professional building. He sat for a moment, trying to remember the position of the rope on the victim. "That's sort of the way it was on the victim, wasn't it?"

"Yes. That was what caught my attention."

"Hmm." Turning his mind to the more immediate task, he looked more carefully at the building. The sign in front proclaimed they were 'Roberts' Realty: Commercial and Residential Professionals.' "Well, let's go see what they can tell us."

The lobby was small, neat, and attractively decorated. The young woman at the desk greeted them, but her smile faded when Booth introduced them and flashed his badge.

"Oh, is this about Rod?"

Rod? Booth filed that away. "No, we need to speak to someone about the Hyperion Hotel," he said, "and we need a list of everyone who's been on the premises."

Her expression turned to relief. "Oh," she said. "I'd still need to get Clare for you," and hurried out of the room.

Brennan turned to him. "That's unusual office protocol, is it not? To leave the room to fetch someone rather than notifying them by intercom or phone?"

He'd been thinking the same thing but before he could say so, the young woman came back in followed by a second woman. She was older than the receptionist, she looked as though she was nearing forty but with dark hair cut in an attractive bob and a dark red suit, she was still striking. Then he took a close look at her face, noticed the strain around her eyes.

"I'm Clare Roberts," she said. "Erin said there's a problem with the Hyperion?"

"Roberts of Roberts Realty?" Brennan asked.

"Yes. I own the company."

"How many people have had access to the property in the past few weeks?"

"Given the economy, more than I'd hoped for when we listed it," Clare said. "I'll check my records, but I believe it's been shown six times – twice by my agents, and four times by other companies. Come with me to my office, and I'll get the names for you. There was an appointment this morning, actually." Motioning them to join her, she continued, "To tell you the truth, most of the showings have been curiosity-seekers rather than serious buyers. There's a lot of history in that hotel."

_There was about to be more_, Booth thought as they followed her out and down a hall into a well-appointed office. At her computer, she tapped a few keys and then turned back to them. "It will take the printer a moment to warm up. What is this about?" She rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry. I should have asked that before, but I'm rather distracted right now."

"The realtor and her clients who were in the hotel this morning discovered a dead body in the kitchen area."

Clare simply stared at them." I'm sorry. It sounded like you said a dead body was found there? Are you sure?" Before either of them could speak she shook her head as if trying to clear it. "Of course you are. You're the FBI." She looked a bit lost and Booth had the sense that it wasn't a common condition for her. "I'm not sure where to begin. Who was it? What do you need?"

They'd already told her what they needed, but before Booth could say so, Brennan did. "As we indicated, we need the list of everyone who's been on the property."

"Oh. Right. Of course." Clare reached behind her to a printer and then handed them a sheet of paper. "That's the realtor, company and contact name for the six people who've shown that property since we listed it. Two of them are my agents, though neither of them are here at the moment."

"There didn't appear to be any security on the building." Booth noted.

"It's an empty hotel, Agent Booth." She sounded a bit tired now. "There are cameras on some entrances from the last attempt to use it as a hotel, but they don't work."

He motioned with the paper. "How do they gain access?"

"Lock box." She opened a drawer, pulled out a device with a keypad on it. "This is secured to a door, with a key to the building inside. Only authorized individuals are given the code to access the key."

"That's a very insecure system," Brennan said. "What's to stop them from giving the code to someone else?"

"Professional ethics and common sense." She gave them both a pointed look. "Something goes wrong; they know who the authorities will look at first."

Booth glanced at the sheet of paper. "The last showing prior to this morning was two weeks ago." He exchanged a look with Brennan.

"Yes, well, empty hotel, bad economy. It wouldn't be getting most of those showings if not for the curiosity factor." She stood. "Unless there's something else, I need to call the hotel's owner."

"Who would that be? Who owns it?" Booth asked.

"A real estate development company." She turned back to her desk, looked something up on the computer, and then jotted a note on a piece of paper that she handed to him. "That's my contact name. He's based in New York."

"Thanks." Booth nodded, and they turned, started back out toward the reception area.

They'd just reached the desk, and he was turning to thank Clare for her help, when the door opened.

The woman who stalked in glanced only briefly in their direction before focusing on Clare. "You haven't called me today. I was worried."

Clare pinched the bridge of her nose. "The day's not over yet, Barb. And I've not heard anything. I swear, you'll be the first person I tell when I do."

"There's no need to take that tone. I'm worried about you. It's in the sister job description when your estranged husband vanishes."

Clare appeared to be gritting her teeth. "We're not estranged."

"He left you. Sure looks like it to me." Barb turned and saw Booth and Brennan, her gaze focusing on Booth's sidearm. "You're the police?"

"FBI," Booth said. "What is this about?"

"They're not here about Rod, Barb. It's another matter." Clare sighed and turned to Booth and Brennan. "I'm sorry. My husband is missing and things are a bit tense. This is my sister, Barbara Culver."

"What happened?" Brennan asked.

"No one's seen him for days," Barbara answered. "It's obvious that he left her. She needs to file for divorce."

"Ten days." Clare said in a controlled voice. "It's been ten days." She glanced from Booth to Brennan and back. "He just didn't come home one night. I spoke to him that afternoon and things were fine. I've filed a report with the police, but there's nothing to go on."

"Because he doesn't want there to be."

"Barbara!" Clare said sharply and then pointed to the door. "Out! I'm done listening to that right now."

"Fine. I'll be here when you figure it out, just like I've always been."

With that, she flounced out and Clare grimaced "I'm sorry about that," she said to Booth and Brennan. "The relationship between my husband and my sister is difficult at the best of times." She rubbed her forehead. "If there's nothing else, I really need to go call the property owners. They'll need time to figure out how to respond to the publicity when the media finds out."

"You expect a lot of publicity from this?" Brennan asked.

"Me personally? No. But it's a candidate for the Historical Register. If it's a slow news day, yeah, the media will run with it."

B&B

While Booth went to the Hoover to begin chasing down the realtors, Brennan dropped her bag off in her office and then went to the platform. The body had been removed from the dumbwaiter and Cam was beginning the autopsy while Angela and Hodgins piled the rope onto a tray.

Cam glanced up. "There's evidence here of significant trauma to the heart, or what's left of it."

"Blunt force?" Brennan asked.

"Knife wound."

Brennan nodded and looked at the ropes. They'd been cut off in a way that would preserve the knots, she saw.

"Brennan, the knots and the way the rope was tied has significance." Angela reported.

"Japanese Kinbaku?"

Apparently unsurprised that Brennan was familiar with it, she nodded. "I spent time in Japan after college and explored BDSM relationships." She smiled at Hodgins. "During the wild years."

"Baby, you're still wild enough for me," he said without missing a beat.

Brennan glanced over at Cam. The other woman remained focused on what she was doing, but her expression hinted at a smile even as she shook her head.

Brennan turned back to Angela. "Were you the dominant partner, or the submissive?"

"Both," Angela said. "I was in two different relationships. In the first I was the dom, in the second I was the sub." In response to Brennan – and Cam's – looks of confusion, she added, "Roles can change from one relationship to another depending on the individuals. It's really about trust and the needs of the couple. The sub wants and needs to be able to trust, while the dom needs to be trusted, needs to feel worthy of that level of trust."

"Trust in a relationship is bi-directional," Brennan said, sure of herself on that point.

"It is," Hodgins said. "The dom trusts the sub to trust him or her." Something passed between him and Angela, something Brennan couldn't interpret.

B&B

"I heard there's a case?" Sweets said from Booth's door.

Booth looked up from the notes he was jotting. "Been talking to Turner, Hooch?"

Sweets rolled his eyes, but came in and dropped into the seat facing the desk. "Woof."

"As long as we all know our places…yeah, there's a case. Victim found in an empty hotel. I've got your better half running the realtors who've had access to the property."

"She said the body was in the dumbwaiter?"

"Yeah. Naked, tied up. Bones thinks the way he was tied is significant. The knots just said 'thorough' to me, but she recognized them as being from some weird Japanese bondage thing."

"BDSM?" At Booth's look, he clarified, "Bondage-discipline-sado-masochism?"

"I know what it means," Booth said irritably. "And yeah, I guess that's what she meant, though if she took me to task for thinking it might be sex games gone awry, assuming it's S&M sex games gone awry is even a further leap."

"BDSM is an expression used to describe a continuum of lifestyle choices. Not all of them involve sexual gratification from giving or receiving pain," Sweets noted. "Many couples who experiment with or choose clearly defined dominant/submissive roles do so with minimal or no reference to physical pain."

"Yeah, well, someone dies tied up like that in a dumbwaiter, 'pain-free' probably wasn't high on the priority list for the murderer."

"Claudia said the hotel had no surveillance, but the doors and windows were secure?"

"Yeah, so at this point, the only real direction we have to go in are the realtors who had access. That's what Turner's chasing down. But I think it's going to a bit closer to home than realtors from competing agencies who showed the property."

"You think you know who it is?"

"I got a hunch... We'll see if it plays out." Booth turned his monitor so the other man could see the screen. "This is Rod Roberts, husband of the woman who owns the agency who listed the property. -He's been missing for ten days. I just got off the phone with DC Metro police and they have nothing - no car, no bank activity, and no credit card usage."

"All likely indicators that the missing man is actually dead."

"Yeah. The wife's sister thinks he left her but when people vanish, there's usually some indication of how they're feeding themselves. His co-workers said there was no sign at all that he was troubled. He's a geek. A programmer who was about to finish a big project and was excited over that. And he and his wife were anticipating an upcoming vacation."

"Not looking good, then. What about the wife?"

Booth frowned. "Some distress there, but she appeared to be holding it together pretty well. Seemed genuinely shocked at the news there was a body in the hotel."

"Or she was shocked he was found so soon?"

"Why would she be when her company controls access to the building and she knew people would be in there today?"

"Well, either she's a good actress or she didn't do it, despite the building evidence to the contrary," Sweets said reasonably.

"Yeah, that's how it's looking." Booth dropped his pencil. "I went ahead and requested his dentals be sent to Cam. If it's him, we'll go from there. If not, we've at least ruled him out."

B&B

Brennan checked the time on her PC's clock again. She should have stayed with Booth. There was nothing case-related for her to do until Cam completed the autopsy, and the last time she'd gone to check on her the progress, Cam hadn't even looked up at her, but had merely pointed at the door.

"Hey," Angela said from the door. "Hodgins finished analyzing the rope. It's jute."

"The type of rope most common in Kinbaku."

"Along with sisal and occasionally hemp, but yeah, it's consistent. Someone knew what they were doing. He also says that from what he has so far, insect activity puts death at between eight and twelve days ago."

Brennan ignored the latter information. "I was doing additional research on Kinbaku," she said. She studied Angela. "Is your experience common?"

"What? Where I was the dom in one relationship, the sub in the other?"

"Yes. You are a very confident and assertive individual. I would not have anticipated you being the submissive one in any relationship."

"It's less dependent on personality than many think. The idea that subs are weak or lacking in confidence is a stereotype." She walked over, leaned against the desk. "Although we call them 'roles,' it's not like it's scripted behavior, despite the traditions – like the type of rope – that many follow. Kinbaku is very unique and specific to the couple."

"I don't understand what you mean about it being less dependent on personality. Isn't that the point?"

Angela thought for a moment, and then shook her head. "Sweets might be able to explain it better than I can, but… we're a little different in all our relationships, Bren, because the other person affects us. They're supposed to. We're still us but how we express who we are reflects that influence."

"I hate psychology," Brennan muttered.

Angela's smile was affectionate. "That's you and consistent." Then she sobered. "Something else that affects it is that there's an aspect of dominance and submission in all our relationships."

Brennan shook her head. "Booth and I are equals."

Angela laughed. "You go right on thinking that."

Before Brennan could respond, Cam came in. "Cause of death was a stab to the heart. But also of interest was the amount of flunitrazepam in his system."

"That's Rohypnol, the date rape drug, isn't it?" Angela asked.

"He would have crawled in that dumbwaiter of his own accord," Cam responded. "And believed himself to be happy."

"So even if it were sex games gone amiss, he wasn't a willing participant," Brennan said.

"No need to give him a roofie if he was," Angela agreed.

Cam turned to leave. "Oh, and Rod Roberts' dental records arrived and I've got Clark working on them. I'm going to go take another look at the heart. Between the damage and the decomp, it's going to be difficult to get a fix on what he was stabbed with. But there's no doubt that he was, several times."

"Sounds like someone was pissed," Angela commented.

B&B

Across from Brennan at the diner, Booth bit into a french fry. "So he was drugged, stripped and persuaded to climb into the dumbwaiter before being stabbed?"

"I see no way for him to have been tied up and positioned in such a way without at least minimal cooperation from him."

"And eight to twelve days ago, huh?" Booth shook his head. "It's going to turn out to be the realtor's husband. Timing and location's too convenient. Cam says he was stabbed not just once, but several times?"

"In the heart."

"Minimal blood, minimal mess. But there's a calculation to it." He waved the french fry at her. "Sweets is going to say this wasn't a crime of passion, regardless of how it looked."

Brennan reached out, nipped the French fry from his fingers and bit into it. "According to Angela, it looked completely accurate."

"But he had to be drugged to participate."

"Was he unwilling to do so at all or did he just object to the location and partner?"

Booth shook his head. "Sex games are one thing, but even if you were going to have a party in an empty hotel, why the kitchen? There are what, a hundred rooms upstairs?"

"The murderer wanted him to be found?"

She was reaching for another fry, so he pushed the plate toward her. "That's my take. If he'd been left in one of the guest rooms, he wouldn't have been found until the hotel sells and renovation begins."

"Angela says all relationships have aspects of dominance and submission in them," Brennan blurted.

"What? What does that mean?"

"She didn't have time to finish explaining it, but I think she was saying one person is always dominant while the other is submissive."

"No. That's just wrong, Bones. A healthy relationship is one where the partners are equals."

"Angela has been both, in different relationships."

"Both what?"

"She's been both dominant and submissive, but it was two separate relationships. I wonder if it's possible to be both in the same relationship, at different times?"

"I'm not submissive," he said flatly. "And neither are you."

"We can't both be dominant at the same time." Her tone was reasonable. "You frequently put my desires ahead of your own, even when I know you'd rather not. Isn't that being submissive?"

"No. Its love, and you do the same thing for me. Eat your fries and let's get back to work."

"They're your fries."

B&B

Booth was still scowling when he stalked back toward his office from the elevator. He hated this case. _Submissive, my ass_, he thought to himself.

"Agent Booth?"

He looked over and saw Turner heading toward him. "Did you find anything?"

"No sir, not really. Or at least not yet. Two of the agents have solid alibis – they were out of town during the period of time the murder occurred. I've still got several interviews to set up. But only one of them said anything interesting when I made the phone call."

"Interesting, how?"

"He wanted to know if the press had been notified. People have been murdered for worse reasons than generating publicity."

"People are killed every day for no reason at all, Turner. But that's good. Bring him in first."

His phone rang, and he answered, motioning for Turner to wait when she would have walked away. "That's good, Cam. Fast work on that. Thanks."

He hung up, looked at Turner. "Dentals confirm the victim was Rod Roberts. Go over the agents again with a view toward how that changes things, given the company that had the property listed."

"Yes, sir."

B&B

Sweets stood in the observation room watching the woman sitting alone on the other side of the glass. Clare Roberts appeared calm, her gaze wandering around the room. Her only sign of nerves was in the near-constant toying with her wedding ring.

The door opened behind him and Booth came in.

"She didn't ask for a lawyer?" Sweets asked.

"Nope. Didn't seem to occur to her." Booth walked over and watched Clare for a moment.

"There's still no direct evidence tying her to the murder, right? It's all circumstantial?"

"Yeah, but it's piling up. Wife, access… I just got off the phone with Turner. She finished the search of their house and found rope in their bedroom, books on bondage in the closet. She's a confident, successful woman who owns her own business, he's a geek who was content to work in the background at his job. His boss says he could have taken over leadership of their team two years ago and didn't."

"So, something went wrong and she killed him?"

"That's how it looks." Booth shook his head. "But it just doesn't feel right," he muttered. He turned, started toward the door. "Let me know if you notice anything useful."

Clare looked up at him when he came in, but didn't say anything. He dropped a file on the table and settled in front of her.

She was pale, but composed. "Agent Booth, I have to ask…you're sure the victim is Rod?"

"I'm sorry but dental records confirm it. There's no mistake."

She swallowed. "I guess I knew that, on some level. He would never have left me."

"Tell me about your relationship."

"What do you mean?"

"Was there anything about your relationship that was our of the norm?"

For the first time, she looked away from him and spots of color appeared in her cheeks. She swallowed and glanced back at him. "What do you mean?"

He studied her for a moment, and then looked down at the folder. He'd planned to show her the crime scene to see what kind of reaction it shocked from her. But watching her, he found he couldn't. Too much wasn't adding up, and damn it, she wasn't acting like a murderer. "Your husband was naked and bound before being stabbed, and my experts tell me that both the rope pattern and the knots were perfect examples of Japanese bondage."

Clare swallowed hard and went chalk white.

"We found rope and books on the subject in your home, Clare. Sex games gone awry?" But Booth knew it wasn't that, the deliberation of the stab wounds and the Rohypnol spoke otherwise on that point.

She'd regained her composure and gave him a scathing look. "I'm a professional real estate broker, with my own company. Yet you think I killed my husband in a vacant property? One that would obviously point back to me? For the love of God, why?"

Booth sighed, that had been the sticking point for him too but sometimes you had to dance the dance through to the end. "You tell me. Were you having problems?"

She sighed. "It's not like that, at all. And no, we weren't having any problems." She again looked down at her wedding band and turned it around on her finger. "We were going away in a few weeks, for our anniversary. Rod's been planning it for months." She struggled for a moment, blinked back tears.

"Perhaps he was getting tired of dancing to your tune? Maybe he didn't want to be the one who was tied up?"

"Your experts don't actually know all that much, do they?" The question was both weary and resigned.

"Tell me how it happened, then."

"Rod's murder? I don't know. But no, he wasn't 'tired of being tied up.'" She slumped back and this time, didn't fight the tears that leaked out." You don't get it, Agent Booth. I wasn't the dominant in our relationship, Rod was. And no, I didn't kill him because _I _was tired of being tied up." She sounded weary rather annoyed. "He was my rock, my support. I not only didn't kill him but now I don't know what I'm going to do without him. I'm not sure I want to try."

"I believe her," Sweets said in his ear.

Booth nodded in agreement with Sweets and passed Clare a box of tissues.

He gave her a few moments, then said, "If you didn't kill him, help us figure out who did."

Clare swallowed, and wiped her face. "I'd like to, but I really have no idea."

He changed the focus, hoping to dislodge something. "What did you do the night he didn't come home?"

"I made supper – it was my turn to cook. I kept thinking he'd got caught up at work – it happened sometimes, to both of us. It was sort of weird that he didn't call me, but I kept expecting him to. My calls to him went straight to voice mail, though, and that was even weirder."

"What did you do while you waited? Did you talk to anyone? Your sister?"

Her lips compressed. "Barb? No. We're not particularly close any more. I was online. Rod and I are part of an online Dom/sub community and I was chatting with some of them. They convinced me to drive to his office and see if everything was okay."

"Did you?"

"Yes, and that's when I knew for sure that it wasn't. His car was gone and the guard said he'd left at the usual time. I drove around for hours, looking for him and trying to figure out what happened. When I ran out of places to look, I called the police. But they wouldn't even talk to me that night."

"Do the people in the online group have real names? Will they verify your actions?"

She nodded. "Some of them, at least. There are people I don't know as well, but Rod and I have actually met a few of them in person."

Booth tried to imagine _that _kind of meeting and when he did, he quickly changed the subject. "As I said, it appears that Rod was tied up very accurately. If some of your rope was missing, would you know?"

"Yes. Caring for my bindings is part of our ritual. Ours has been undisturbed." She frowned. "What kind of rope was it?"

He had to open his notes. "Jute."

"It's no one who knew us, then, not really."

"Why?"

She slipped her jacket off, rolled up her sleeve, showed him a slight scar on her wrist. "I'm allergic to jute. We never used it after we realized that. Rod wouldn't have it in the house."

B&B

Sweets turned to him as he walked back into the observation booth. "You think someone tried to frame her?"

"I don't know. If so, they did a poor job," Booth said. "The idea with framing is to make someone look guilty and this goes too far in the other direction. If Clare killed him, but didn't want to go down for his murder, why do it in a building she had access to, in a way private to both of them? And if she did want it known that she did it – if she was angry or delusional enough not to mind being caught, why do it with a rope they never used?"

"She's not delusional," Sweets said. "But you're right. It doesn't add up."

"Gee, thanks." Booth smirked at him, and then sobered. "Does what she describes of their relationship sound right?"

"That Rod was the dominant partner, despite their real-world personalities? Yeah."

"Angela told Bones that how dominant or submissive we are can vary from relationship to relationship."

"She's right. For some people, the roles are fixed but for others it depends on the person they're with."

"She's a very confident woman," Booth said. "And yet she refers to him as her rock."

"He probably was. Dom/sub relationships can be very complicated, but the stereotype, of one partner repressing the other, physically or emotionally, is seldom true, at least not in a healthy relationship."

"Oh, come on, Sweets. He tied her up. She apparently let him. How is that healthy?"

"I'd need to talk to her a lot more to say for certain, but at a guess? The knowledge that she had someone in her life she could trust that much factored heavily into that confidence. She could take risks - including everything entailed in opening and running her own real estate company when the market sucks - because he was behind her. Letting someone tie you up is very different from someone forcibly doing so. It's an act of trust and since they had been together for a significant period of time, I'd assume he never failed to be worthy of that trust."

"Okay, fine. What does he get out of it?"

"The knowledge that he's worth that level of trust, that a beautiful and successful woman needed him? That was what he got out of it. It sounds like he wasn't particularly dominant at work, but he didn't need to be. His identity and his confidence came from knowing what he was with her."

"It sounds like a very symbiotic relationship."

"That's exactly what it is. They meet each other's needs."

Booth's phone buzzed with a text. He read it, and then looked at Sweets. "They've got something for me at the lab." He motioned his head toward the interview room. "Make sure she knows to stay close, but spring her. See what you can do for her."

B&B 

Booth swiped his card to access the platform, where nearly the entire team was gathered. "What do you have for me?"

Hodgins looked up from where he and Clark were examining the dumbwaiter. "Found a hair, man."

Booth motioned to the dumbwaiter. "In that?"

"Yeah. Caught in the side."

"Cam's running DNA on it," Brennan said. "But it's too long and the wrong color to be Clare Roberts'."

Booth shook his head. "Yeah, she didn't do it. Too many things not adding up."

"The bondage?" asked Cam.

"No, she confirmed that. And Sweets said it sounded like a healthy relationship to him."

"You don't look convinced, big guy." Angela's voice held both humor and affection.

Booth scowled. "Relationships are about both people."

"They are," Angela agreed. "But to greater and lesser amounts and in different ways. We're not all alike, so why would we need the same things from our relationships?"

"But to be that uneven? To be that much about just one of them?"

"You do know that the one who really controls the relationship is the submissive, right?" She laughed at his expression. "The dom is all about the needs of the sub."

Thinking of Clare and Rod and what Sweets had said, Booth frowned. "It just sounds wrong," he said irritably.

"I don't know why, because if anyone's a natural dominant, it's you." Before he could respond, Angela continued. "You've always been about Brennan. If she needed to be in control, you'd give it to her. Whatever it was, even if she didn't know she needed it, you were figuring out how to provide it for her."

Uncomfortable, but unable to deny what she said, he looked over at Brennan, half expecting an explosion. Instead, she looked intrigued. Angela turned to her and grinned. "Of course, that means you're the sub."

"I've been researching it," Brennan said. "And it makes sense anthropologically. Culture requires some type of organization to function and some form of hierarchical leadership – dominance – is most common." She looked from Booth to Angela, a troubled expression settling on her face. "But am I not all about Booth, too, in the same way? Isn't that what a healthy relationship is?"

Hearing the vulnerability in her voice, he moved over to stand next to her, his hand brushing down her back. But before he could speak, Angela started to laugh.

"What? What is so amusing?"

"Oh, Brennan. Do you two see what happened there? I said something which upset you and Booth immediately moved to your side. But to answer your question, yes, of course you're about him. But in a different way."

"Oh, for…" Clark put down the light he'd been using to examine the dumbwaiter. "I've never seen a group of people more capable of talking something to death and still not getting it. You're over-thinking this." He pointed first to Brennan, then to Booth. "You switch back and forth. In some settings, he's the dom, in other settings, she is. It's not that hard. It's not rocket science, people. There's probably a term for it. Ask Dr. Sweets."

Silence fell and Clark suddenly looked horrified. "This place causes temporary insanity," he muttered and went back to examining the dumbwaiter.

Before anyone else could comment, Cam scanned her badge and came up the steps. "I got the results back for the hair. It's a match for a close female relative of the wife. Most likely sister, if she has one."

Booth looked at Brennan. "Oh, yeah. She has one."

B&B

While Booth, Brennan and Sweets watched, Barb Culver sat in the interrogation room, apparently completely relaxed. She tapped her fingers on the table, but it was more idly than nervously.

"She must be pretty sure of herself," Sweets said. "Because there's no nerves there."

"Oh, it's her," Booth said. "We've got the hair, she's got no alibi…and she works for a pharmacy supply company that seems to have encountered some accounting discrepancies with a certain controlled substance."

"Rohypnol?" Sweets asked.

"That's the one. And for the extra-credit bonus round, your girlfriend ruled out the other realtors. All that's left is motive." He motioned to Brennan and she preceded him into the interrogation room.

They settled across from Clare's sister. "Thank you for coming in, Ms. Culver," Booth said. "We have a few things to clear up."

"Of course. I want this whole distasteful thing behind Clare, so she can move on. But I'm not sure what I can tell you. I didn't know Rod that well and, to be honest, I didn't want to. I'd be looking at those perverts he insisted they hang around with."

"Perverts?" Brennan asked.

"Some S&M group they met online. You have to understand – he looked mild mannered, but he controlled my sister, dominated her. I couldn't prove it, but I suspect he beat her. I'm glad he's dead. I hope it hurt."

"You believe he physically abused her?" Booth paused, ran through every encounter he'd had with Clare - there hadn't been any indication of abuse.

Barb was looking at them as if they were dimwitted. "Read the definition of sadomasochism in a dictionary, why don't you? He beat her, and probably worse."

"She told you this? You saw bruises?" Brennan asked.

"No," Barb huffed impatiently. "Of course not. He made her hide it."

Booth shifted, a tragic picture of ignorance and bias was forming. "How do you know about their lifestyle?"

"Clare told me when they first got together. Said they were exploring BDSM. That's what she called it. I just called it what it was – demeaning and kinky. And then I found books, ropes and all-sorts of filthy sex paraphernalia in their closet while I was house-sitting for them one time." She shuddered. "Someone needed to save her. She wouldn't listen to me."

"So, you weren't trying to frame her, but one of their friends," Booth said smoothly.

"Rod was a silent partner in Clare's company – his savings provided the startup for it when she opened the office. So, he had access and it's not a stretch at all to think one of those whackos they spent time with online could have killed him."

Booth sat back in his seat and stared at Barbara, she was cleverer than he'd given her credit for, discussing the murder without confessing to it.

"Are you Clare's only sister?" Brennan asked.

"Yes. That's why it was up to me to save her."

Booth and Brennan exchanged a glance and he smirked, "Well, while you were busy 'saving' her you actually screwed yourself."

Brennan slid the lab report over to Barb ,"You can see here that we found a strand of your hair in the dumbwaiter or more accurately, at the murder scene."

Realization was followed by annoyance as Barb squared her shoulders and calmly said, "I want a lawyer."

"Of course you do," Booth said and stood.

She looked up at him. "I'm not sorry. If I have to pay for it, I will. But I liberated her."

Booth thought of her sister's despair. "You keep on thinking that," he said. "But for now, you're under arrest."

B&B

Booth took a sip of beer and looked at Brennan sitting next to him at the bar of Founding Fathers. "Some cases take more out of you than others," he said.

"That does seem to be true."

They were silent for a moment and then Brennan said, "I asked Sweets about what Clark said."

"That two people can switch back and forth in terms of who's dominant and who's submissive?"

"He said it's quite common."

"You're frequently the dominant one in our work," Booth admitted. "It's your field of expertise."

"Just as you are in our private life, where I am still a novice. Is that what he meant?"

He leaned over, bumped her shoulder with his. "You know, Bones, I don't know. And I don't think it matters. It works for us and that's enough for me."

A companionable silence fell between them again, and then Brennan said, "I've been wondering something."

Booth looked up, noted the smile lurking. "What's that?"

"Despite your tendency to label things, you're much more open to unconventional sex play than I might have anticipated." She cast him a sideways glance filled with promise and something else he couldn't identify. "Would you be …open to experimenting with bondage?"

His throat went bone dry and he took a swallow from his bottle. He eyed her speculatively for a moment, intrigued, and grinned.

"What exactly did you have in mind?"

Break

_**An apple a day may keep the doctor away but it's no match for Creeps McGee. Join us next week when the team tackles the case of one woman's tragic death at the hands of their twisted and elusive nemesis in The Apple for the Teacher by Squinttoyou.**_


	16. The Apple for the Teacher

6.5X16: The Apple for the Teacher~ written by Squinttoyou

After two days of rain the ground was saturated and every step created a softy squishy sound as his feet sank slightly into the turf. The closely tended lawn surrounding the US Botanic Garden Conservatory grew thick and he left a trail of footprints in the lush emerald green carpet. Unconcerned with evidence that would fade with more rain and eventual sun he walked purposefully toward the construction area. As he neared the soppy grass beneath his feet was replaced by thick mud and he carefully altered course so that he walked along the planks of wood laid as walkway and avoided all chance of leaving a lasting footprint. The gate to enter the area under renovation was locked but he rolled back the nylon netting and slipped through the slit he had cut days earlier.

The winding sidewalk that threaded through the display area was now his best hope of walking without leaving evidence and he stepped along the shiny black ribbon with purpose as he neared his destination. Passing the small backhoe waiting to resume its excavation of a sickly looking palm tree he paused and checked the wind. He was near and precaution was necessary. The rain was quite heavy, but it fell straight down and the air remained still meaning the danger of toxin being blown into his lungs or eyes was low. Still, he couldn't be too careful. He pulled a pair of safety goggles from his pocket and donned them before he covered his hands in fashionable leather driving gloves. Checking to make certain the hooded sweatshirt he wore still covered his head he resumed his walk holding his umbrella so that no part of his body was in danger of growing wet.

The tree stood alone its trunk rising fifteen meters from the sandy ground at a sloping angle. The shiny green leaves seemed to glow in the fading light and he watched as drops of milky white toxin dripped from their pointed tips. Ignoring the signs announcing danger he moved closer still careful to keep himself shielded by the umbrella.

"Still with us, Dr. Cruz?" he asked his latest victim. Her naked body was slumped forward held upright only by the bands binding her to the tree. Every inch of her skin was covered in nasty red blisters most of which had ruptured and leaked blood and ichor which dripped down her dangling limbs to the rain soaked ground. A sound too weak to be considered an actual moan escaped her throat as he ripped the duct tape from her gagged mouth. A loud clap of thunder sounded overhead and he looked up to the dark sky. "I'll have to hurry," he told his victim. "Can't be too careful, rain and Hippomane Mancinella are a dangerous combination. But, I don't have to tell you that do I?"

He laughed at his joke and watched in fascination as a drop of water fell from the tree into Cruz's open mouth. A dark red blister immediately formed but she failed to react. He took that as a good sign. "I know the rain has been terribly inconvenient for you," he said as if he regretted her circumstances. "But, you'll be happy to know it is quite beneficial for the cherry trees. They are almost ready to bloom and two days of steady rain is just the boost they need. I anticipate the annual Cherry Blossom Festival will be quite spectacular this year.

She convulsed slightly and a new sound emerged, this one desperate and slightly louder. He shook his head. "I'm afraid that will do you no good. It's quite pointless. I'm not surprised that you can't realize it," he sneered. "Your limited intellect is the reason you are in this mess. You don't know your own limitations. You brought this on yourself." He jabbed a finger at her slack face the gloved digit waggling before eyes which had been blind for days. "I tried to spare you this," he reminded her virtuously. "I didn't ask you to serve on that committee. I approached only the most qualified faculty members for assistance. It's your own fault for taking up the task when Dr. Lincoln fell ill. If you had not inserted yourself into my business you would not be here now!"

A lightning strike lit the sky and the flash of light allowed him a brief glimpse of her. He leaned closer to confirm his suspicions and he pressed two gloved fingers to her neck. "Excellent," he muttered when he found no beat. Reaching into the pouch on the front of his hoodie he withdrew a small box. The golden bug inside almost seemed to glow in the night as he gently shook it from the box onto his open palm. "There you go," he murmured to it affectionately as it began to crawl toward his fingertips. "It's a cool night," he said to it. "Better take shelter."

The bug reached the end of his hand and stood considering its next step. Slowly it stepped from his hand its tiny legs clinging to the strands of hair hanging damp and loose from the dead woman's head. After only a few seconds it seemed to adapt to the new footing and with one more whisper of praise from its master it scurried deeper into her hair. He watched until it disappeared, the shimmer of its gold obscured by dark damp tresses and then he turned retracing his steps carefully so he never left a footprint.

B&B

Brennan didn't bother to knock. She had a key to Booth's apartment and as she turned the lock she felt a small smile grow with the thought that she was free to use it any time she wanted. The sound of the television blaring in the kitchen let her know where to find who she was looking for and she shrugged off her jacket as she walked further into the apartment.

"Hi, Bones," Parker greeted her casually before shoving a loaded spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

Brennan walked to the television and turned it off. "Good morning, Parker."

The boy started to complain about the end of his cartoon but his protest turned to a grin as he saw what she was holding. "Is that for me?"

"Did you study your lesson?"

"I did, I promise."

"Very well," Brennan said slowly waiting for Parker to show he was ready. When he sat up straight and set down his spoon she continued. "If I bake a pie and take it to the lab and your father and Hodgins eat one-half of the pie while Cam and Angela eat one-fourth of the pie. How much pie is left for you after school?"

Parker squinted and his head tipped toward the ceiling as he thought. "Change the two into a four," he muttered as he did the math in his head. "They ate three-fourths so I get one-fourth!" he cried.

"Very good, Parker," Brennan praised as he delivered the correct answer.

"That was a cool problem, Bones," he said as he accepted the reward she had brought for him. "I like pie."

"Yes, I am aware." Parker looked up as he chomped his cereal and they shared a grin. Brennan turned and filled a cup with coffee and then returned to the table. "Did you have a pleasant evening?" she asked as she took a seat.

"Yeah, of course; Dad and I always have fun. After I did my homework we played some X-Box. Then we made ice cream floats and watched Sports Center before I went to bed.

"And I had to tell you twice to turn off the light because you wouldn't put the book down," Booth added as he entered. He was cinching his tie but left it hanging loose in favor of wrapping his arms around Brennan when she stood to greet him. "Hi," he said softly as she returned his hug.

"Good morning," Brennan answered with an inviting smile too good to pass up. Their lips met and each tightened their hold to intensify their hello. "How was your night?" she asked as they parted.

Booth hadn't released her and his hand stroked her back as he answered. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," she promised and her smile said it was true. She pulled his tie straight and then smoothed it against his chest. "But, I think it was for the best. Parker is not often with you during the week and I didn't want to interfere with the extra time you have together."

"I appreciate that," he said in a voice meant only for her ears. "But, Bones, I really missed you."

She understood exactly what that meant and she chuckled along with him as he moved in for a second kiss. Her arms were sliding back around him when the sound of dishes clanking in the sink reminded them both that they were not alone.

"I know you have to do that stuff now that you are boyfriend and girlfriend," Parker said as he ran water over his breakfast dishes. "But, I really need to get to school so could you do that later?"

"What do you know about having a girlfriend?" Booth laughed. He reached out and ruffled Parker's hair as the boy came close.

"Nothing," Parker said with a giggle. He scooped up the treat Brennan had given him and stuffed it into his waiting lunch sack.

"Are those the dried fruit snacks that Bones likes?"

"Yeah, you are out of them and she brought it to me for my lunch," Parker explained.

"He earned it by correctly answering a math question related to last night's homework," Brennan added.

"Good job, Bub," Booth praised as he moved to pour the last of the coffee into his mug. "But wouldn't you rather have a candy bar or something as a reward?"

"No, I like the fruit." Parker glanced at the clock and then looked plaintively at his father. "Dad," he whined. "I REALLY need to go."

"Ok, ok, let's go," Booth said waving him to the door. His arm went around Brennan as Parker sprinted out the door. "He's eating fruit instead of candy and complaining we aren't at school early enough. What are you doing to my kid, Bones?" She giggled as he kissed her temple.

Parker complained at every red light and when Booth pulled to a stop in front of the elementary he was already unbuckling his seatbelt. "Hey, hey," Booth called when the boy tried to bolt. Parker turned back and leaning over the seat gave them each a quick hug. "Bye!" Booth shouted as the door slammed shut. They watched him sprint inside and Booth chuckled. "I've never seen him so eager to get to school."

"I was often anxious to get to class," Brennan said with a shrug.

"Yeah, I don't think that's it, Bones. It must be his turn to feed the bugs to the class lizard. Or maybe some guy broke his arm and Park doesn't want to miss his chance to write on the cast."

"Why can't he just be eager to begin today's lesson?"

"Yeah," Booth scoffed as he eased the SUV into the flow of parental traffic. "You are changing his snack habits, Bones, but he's still a boy."

Brennan started to argue with him but her words were halted by his ringing phone. "Booth," he answered and then nodded his head to let her know it was an incoming case. "We're on our way."

B&B

"At least the rain is over," Hodgins called as the partners climbed from Booth's truck.

"Yeah, great," Booth agreed in sarcasm as he shook his foot to dislodge the mud he had stepped in.

Hodgins grinned but knew better than to say anything and he fell in step behind the duo as they moved onto the garden's path. "So what's the call?" he asked. "Why am I here?"

Booth looked over his shoulder. "We get a murder victim at the botanical gardens and you need to ask why you are here? What are the odds we DON'T need you?"

"Almost nonexistent," Jack answered with a grin. "I just wanted to hear you say it."

"Aren't there other annoying squints you could give his job to?" Booth complained to Brennan.

"It would require multiple scientists to replace him," Brennan stated factually. "It is rare to find someone with his exact combination of degrees and experience."

"Yeah, I'm special," Hodgins added wiggling his eyebrows over his grin.

"I don't like to shoot people before breakfast," Booth warned. "But, I can make an exception."

"Stop," Brennan scolded. "Are you being grumpy because we didn't have sex last night?"

Hodgins chuckled and Booth wanted to groan as he saw the two men they approached reacting to her question. "Bones!" he hissed. "Not now! And no I'm not doing that."

"You seem grumpy."

"He's annoying!" Booth hissed quickly and then shifted his attention to the men waiting for them. "Special Agent Seeley Booth," he began the introductions, "My partner, Doctor Temperance Brennan and our associate, Dr. Hodgins."

"Miles Norris," the older man answered with a nod. "I'm curator of the Gardens. This is Thomas Atwater our chief arborist."

"Where are we headed?" Booth asked since there was no body in sight.

"This way, please," Norris answered taking a step toward the construction fence. "The body was discovered when Thomas came out to assess the possibility of resuming our renovation project. The rain has stalled our progress for days and we are terribly behind scheduled."

As Norris unlocked the gate Atwater donned a filter mask. "We must be careful," he explained on seeing Booth's expression.

Hodgins was looking about and recognition flashed in his eyes. "This is the tropical habitat," he said with understanding and he snatched the masks from Atwater. "Put these on," he insisted as he shoved one in each partner's hands. Pulling his own on, he continued speaking through the white shell now covering his mouth and nose. "If you feel any skin irritation or your eyes start to burn, get out of the construction zone immediately."

It was Hodgins who led them on his quick steps making it clear that he had some expectation of what they would find. The plants here were tropical in nature and palms and a variety of fruit trees lined the path they walked. A sign ahead made Booth's eyes widen in surprise. "Why does that say danger ahead?" he asked.

Before anyone answered they rounded the bend and as they cleared the idle backhoe at the renovation sight he found his answer. This was clearly murder. A woman's body was bound to a tree and it was certain from her lifeless posture and the disturbing condition of her skin that she was dead. Another sign was posted near the lone tree and Booth quickly read it as they approached. "The tree is poisonous?" he scoffed.

"Unbelievably so," Hodgins assured him. "Every part of the manchineel tree is toxic." His blue eyes darted to the agent, their isolation over the mask making them appear exceptionally large. "It's an exotic way to kill someone," he muttered to express his thought.

"Hodgins it says not to approach!" Booth complained as the entomologist suddenly moved.

"Dr. Hodgins I would prefer to complete a visual examination before we touch the body," Brennan scolded.

Hodgins ignored them both. He set down his equipment and pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket. His eyes never stopped moving and he leaned forward slightly as he searched carefully. There was a snap as he released the latex and it formed to his hand. "I knew it," he muttered. His hands were gentle as they parted the still damp hair of the victim and with extreme care he closed his fingers around the evidence. When he turned around he held it in a closed fist. Slowly his hand opened and he held it out flat for the partners to see the dead bug he had found. "Guess who?" he said, voice trembling with disdain.

* * *

><p>The atmosphere in the lab was heavy with desperation. There was none of the usual banter between the scientists as they gathered around the body lying sealed beneath a contagion tent. As Cam climbed the steps they turned to her and she began immediately. "I have tox screens running on the tissue I harvested."<p>

"Like we need it," Hodgins scoffed. All eyes turned to him and he pointed at the body. "Any amateur arborist could tell you what killed her. They don't call that tree's fruit the 'little apple of death' for no reason. Creeps tied her to that tree during a rain storm and just waited for this to happen. The whole damn plant is a death sentence."

"The method has a long history of success," Brennan agreed. "For centuries the Carib people have been known to tie enemies to the manchineel tree as the ultimate punishment."

"Brennan, I finished collecting what I need quite a while ago," Cam noted as she looked at the body beneath the protective barrier. "Is there a reason you are delaying?"

"Caution," Brennan answered. "I was just giving Mr. Fisher instructions on the handling of dangerous remains. The level of toxicity in the remaining flesh will require additional procedures."

"The idea that the dead could kill me is quite the rush," Fisher announced with a gleam in his eye.

Cam gave the intern a wide-eyed look of surprise. "Creeps and a happy Fisher, I'm officially wishing I'd never come back." After a beat to consider just why she had missed their particular brand of work she turned to Angela. "Anything yet?"

"Identification was an easy dental match," Angela reported with a sigh. "Booth already has the info, but her name is Dr. Ofelia Cruz. She is…was, a chemistry professor at Georgetown. Turner is looking into her background, but I'm following some trails through academia, stuff the FBI wouldn't normally check."

"Anything might help," Cam agreed.

"What will help is to quit wasting time on cause of death and get down to the investigation," Hodgins snapped. "The tree sap killed her, end of story. The stuff runs like syrup when it rains and she died from an overdose of the toxins it contains. It killed the bug too!" he added as if he were offended by the insect's death.

They were all looking at the entomologist with concern and Angela gave Cam a slight nod as she moved to her husband's side. "Jack," she said in a soft and soothing voice. "We have to follow procedure."

"Yeah, because that's worked so well with this guy," Hodgins snapped. He shook his head and stomped down the steps. "I've got tests to run," he yelled back at them.

Booth was approaching and the scientist bumped against him as he stormed toward his office. Booth watched him go able to see the tension in the smaller man and he looked up at those on the platform with a raised brow.

"I'll center him, Booth," Angela promised. "I just need to give him a minute to deal with the frustration."

Booth nodded, accepting that Angela knew best how to handle the erratic genius. They were all frustrated, but they all knew Jack was their best chance at finding the clues that had eluded them so far. "Bones, if you are going with me to interview the husband we need to get moving. Are you almost done here?"

"Mr. Fisher is ready to proceed," she answered pulling off her gloves and carefully dropping them into a biohazard container. "However, I need a few moments before we go." She bobbed her head toward the door behind him and then stepped down the stairs.

Booth and the others watched as she crossed toward the door. Brennan greeted the woman arriving and they shared a hug and smiles before Brennan gestured toward her office. There was silence as their walk was observed, but Angela could finally take no more and she said what they were all thinking. "What the hell is Daisy doing here?"

"I forgot about that," Booth answered as Brennan and her former intern disappeared into her office. "Daisy is in town to defend her dissertation. Bones is on the committee."

"The real question is, did anyone warn Sweets?" Cam wondered.

Brennan shut the door to her office and motioned for Daisy to take a seat on the sofa. "It is good to see you, Miss Wick."

"Thank you, so so much, Dr. Brennan," Daisy gushed. "I appreciate your time, especially when I see that you are obviously in the middle of an investigation with Agent Booth. I know how important that work is and I am flattered that you would keep our scheduled meeting when you have other priorities."

"Daisy!" Brennan interrupted. "Do you recall the parameters we set in Maluku?"

"Yes," she admitted sheepishly. "No flattery, just facts and keep my sentences short." She straightened and tried to appear professional. "Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Brennan. I appreciate your continued mentorship." She bounced a bit in her seat and then forced herself to still. "Your notes following my last draft were quite helpful and I believe you will be satisfied with my results."

Brennan only nodded then met the eager eyes across from her. "Your work is usually acceptable, Miss Wick. If it were not I would not have retained you as my intern or allowed your participation in the Maluku project. However, I am only one member of your committee and cannot guarantee the success of your defense."

"Oh! Of course not, Dr. Brennan," Daisy quickly agreed. "But, I would like to show my appreciation for all the help you have given me. There is no way I could be where I am today without your excellent tutelage." She saw Brennan's frown at the extravagant language and she reigned in her hero worship. "I like to think we grew close during our work in Maluku," she said without the blind admiration that usually sounded in her voice. "I was wondering if you would like to join me for dinner this evening to reminisce on our adventures and to allow me to thank you for your years of instruction."

Brennan was already shaking her head. "I would be unavailable this evening," she answered. "Parker is staying with Booth this week while his mother is out of town and we have plans."

A delighted smile flashed on Daisy's face. "You and Agent Booth?" she said hopefully.

Brennan did smile at that, unable to control her reaction. "Booth and I are together," she confirmed.

"Oh! Dr. Brennan that is wonderful!" Daisy gushed, immediately back in fangirl mode. "That is a change both unexpected and long overdue."

"There were many unexpected changes on our return from Maluku," Brennan admitted.

"But they are all good?" Daisy asked. She clearly was asking about something specific but Brennan was uncertain what it was. When she didn't respond Daisy hesitantly offered clarification. "Everyone here is happy? Angela and Dr. Hodgins are I'm sure. And I understand Dr. Saroyan is a new mother, which is wonderful. Is…is Dr. Sweets happy?"

Brennan nodded now understanding what question her former intern was actually asking. "Sweets is very happy," she promised.

"He's moved on," Daisy said with a nod. "Good for him."

"Yes, I believe she is very good for him," Brennan answered. She stood unable to continue to chat like this when there was an ongoing investigation. "I must be going, Miss Wick. I will review your dissertation and I look forward to our meeting."

Daisy was trying to keep up but her thoughts were tangled in the memory of Brennan's last comment. "Thank you, Dr. Brennan," she mumbled as her mentor led her to the door.

B&B

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Dr. Arlington," Booth began. The academic across the table nodded his thanks and offered a weak smile. "Is there anything you can tell us about the night your wife disappeared?"

"I wish there was, Agent Booth, but I just don't know what it would be. Ofelia and I had separated some time ago and I am no longer privy to her private schedule."

"But you knew enough to report her missing," Brennan noted.

"She failed to show up for classes," he explained. "Missing one would be anomaly enough, but when she didn't attend her second class of the day it garnered attention. Her department's secretary called me to inquire. Ofelia has never missed a class. I knew immediately that something was amiss."

"Did you report it then?" Booth asked making a note.

"I went to the house to check on her," the professor answered. "I still have a key and I let myself in actually hoping to find she was ill and had simply failed to notify someone. It was obvious to me that she had not been home in several days."

"What alerted you to that?" Booth asked intently.

"Her cat was without food or water. She would never allow that to happen." Booth nodded in understanding and made a note and the professor continued. "That was when I reported my suspicion to the police."

"And no one had missed her until that time?"

Arlington shook his head. "Ofelia was a lovely woman, but it was not uncommon for her to spend an inordinate amount of time in her lab. If student research warranted her help or her own projects were in a critical stage she could hole up there for days. Friends would have thought nothing of her silence over the weekend."

"Can you think of anyone who would mean her harm?" Brennan asked.

"No, of course not," he insisted. "The woman lived for her work, Dr. Brennan. She put everything she had into her teaching; she mentored her students with care and dedicated her life to her research. I can't imagine anyone would have reason to harm her."

"What about her research? What was she working on?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Dr. Brennan. I'm an English professor, not a chemist. Ofelia rarely discussed her work in detail with me. You would have more luck contacting her colleagues in her department."

"We'll do that," Booth assured him.

They had few other questions for him and Dr. Arlington was soon making his way to the elevator. "I'll have Turner run the list of contacts he gave us," Booth said as he scanned the list of associates. "But, I doubt they know anything about it."

"It is unlikely," Brennan agreed. "Cross referencing their activity with the other murders should quickly eliminate most as suspects."

"Well, let's get you back to the lab, Bones," he suggested as they stood. "We need answers."

B&B

Angela paused in the doorway, taking the opportunity to study her husband while he worked. What she saw worried her. He had been compulsive before, in the months since they had found the first golden beetle he had spent hours and hours examining the evidence, he had stayed late, worked extra days, returned to the clues at every opportunity. But now he was desperate, intent, compelled; there was a new kind of desperation about him and she was worried. As she entered the room she was certain he didn't even realize she was there despite the click of her heels on the floor. "Jack," she called softly reaching out to touch his arm.

"I'm busy, Angie."

He was tense, his arm felt like granite beneath her hand and she could see his jaw clinching beneath his beard as he ground his teeth. "Any luck?" She waited but he didn't answer. "Jack?"

"No, there's no luck. I don't need luck. I need a damn clue!"

Angela pushed at his shoulder forcing him to turn away from the work. "You have to stop this. It is not your fault."

"I knew her."

"What? You knew Dr. Cruz?" It was the absolute last thing she had expected him to say.

"Not personally," Hodgins explained glancing down at the sample on his table and then forcing his eyes back to her. "I've read a few of her papers. I met her once at a conference on the application of interdisciplinary studies. She had a sterling academic reputation, graduated from Wooster, earned a PhD at Michigan then faculty positions at Columbia and Georgetown, she was brilliant. And now she's dead."

"Jack, you are not responsible," she scolded, knowing he was placing blame for this murder on his inability to find a clue in the others.

"Feels like it."

Angela wanted to scream at the guilt she saw in him. She wanted to cry from his pain. She wanted to hold him and never let go. "Jack, you are a brilliant scientist. You will find something."

He let her wrap him in the hug she longed to give and as she cradled his head against her chest his arms slid slowly around her waist. "I'm not a crime fighter, Ange. I'm an entomologist. I'm the bug and slime guy. I can't be the one to stop him."

"You can," she whispered as she pressed a kiss above his ear. "You will."

"She was just a professor, an academic, a lab rat like me." His body tensed and he sat back.

"What?"

"Do you think it's a coincidence that two of his victims were professors?"

"The Berkeley victim was a chemist, wasn't she?" Angela agreed as she considered the possibility. "You think it means something?"

"I don't know, but it's worth considering."

"That's speculation, Dr. Hodgins," she reminded him in a gentle teasing tone. "You don't like speculation."

"Not normally," Jack admitted. "But this doesn't really feel like a guess." They shared a look and then he turned back to his evidence. "Would you mention it to Booth?" he asked as he resumed his work. "It's his job to worry about the guesswork. My job is to find some facts."

B&B

Booth had returned Brennan to her lab and was just leaving the Jeffersonian parking structure when his phone rang. "Booth," he answered as he checked traffic and turned onto the street.

"I think we might have a problem."

"Rebecca? What's wrong?"

"I just had a call from the school. Parker's teacher wants to speak with us today."

"Did she say why?"

"No," Rebecca admitted with a sigh. "I was in a meeting so it was only a voice mail. What do you think is wrong? He's never been in trouble before." She growled in irritation. "I can't believe this happens the one week I'm out of town!"

"Everything was fine this morning," Booth promised as he slowed for a red light. "He was anxious to get there."

"He was anxious to get to school?"

Booth chuckled at her skepticism, "Yeah, I know. I told Bones it wasn't normal."

The woman on the other end of the call sighed. "I'm sorry to dump this on you, Seeley. I'm sure you are busy and normally I'd just take care of it myself, but I can't do anything when I'm in Chicago."

"Hey, relax. I'm his dad. I can handle this. I'll call the school and set up a talk and then I'll call you as soon as I know what is going on."

"Thanks. And again I'm sorry, I feel terrible about the timing on all of this. Are you in the middle of something important?"

"We are, but this is more important, Becks. He is always more important."

"That sexy dad thing you do is hot, Seeley. Why the hell didn't I marry you?"

Booth laughed knowing she was joking. "Because we are completely incompatible and would have killed each other a long time ago."

"Oh right, I remember. Yeah, you are annoying as hell." She paused for a beat and shifted back to a more serious tone. "Let me know the minute you figure out what's wrong. He's never been in trouble before. I'm worried."

"I will, I promise." He pulled into his parking space as they said goodbye. He had work to do, but before he left his truck he thumbed through his contacts and dialed the number for Parker's school. Creeps murder or not he was going to have to figure out what was going on with his son.

B&B

"Come in," Sweets called as the knock sounded against his door. Looking up he felt the blood drain from his face and heard the audible gasp he made. She was the last thing he had expected to see. "Hello, Daisy." His voice sounded thin even to his own ears.

"Hello, Lance."

She didn't speak further and he wasn't sure what to say and so they simply stared at one another. After a moment the absurdity of his response began to irritate him and he deliberately pushed aside his shock. "I assume that you are here for a reason?" he asked.

"I just wanted to say hi."

It was her turn to sound timid and uncertain and for some reason that made him feel better. "That's really not necessary," he began but he couldn't maintain his cold tone and his words softened. "But, it's very nice of you."

She brightened when she heard his soft tone and her smile appeared. "How are you?"

"I'm great," Sweets said leaning back in his seat. "Couldn't be better." His curiosity got the better of him and he asked. "How are you?"

"Good!" she answered emphatically. "I'm just in town to meet with my advisory panel and defend my dissertation. It's quite brilliant."

A tiny smile appeared on his face. "I'm sure it is," he agreed.

"So, I was wondering…" she began and then faltered.

"Yes?"

"Would you join me for a drink this evening?"

"I don't think that is a good idea."

"Please, Lancelot!"

The slight frown he had worn as he considered the dangers of meeting with her turned to a full scowl. "Don't call me that."

"You're right," she agreed sounding mollified. "I'm sorry. Please, Lance, join me for a drink. Just give me one chance to say what needs to be said. For old time's sake?"

That pleading little girl voice had always been like a knife in his gut and nothing had changed. "Ok," he agreed softly, "One drink; six o'clock at the Founding Fathers." She acted as if she was going to say more but then only nodded and turned. As the door closed behind her he leaned back in his seat and let out the breath his chest had been too tight to release. The work he had been doing forgotten, he sat in his office for some time and considered everything he was feeling about this turn of events.

* * *

><p>"There has to be something," Hodgins snarled. "There is always something."<p>

"Well, there's not!" Fisher answered hotly. "I've looked at the bones. There's nothing to tell!"

"Hey, hey, why are we screaming?" Cam called as she quickly entered the room.

"Dr. Hodgins feels I'm not performing my examination with the appropriate diligence," Fisher reported.

"I didn't say that," Hodgins snapped. "I just asked why you haven't found anything."

"Because there is nothing to find," Fisher answered his body was still encased in the biohazard suit and he waved one bright yellow arm at the quarantined body. "Believe me; I'd love to find something. Do you know how Dr. Brennan is going to react when I tell her I can't find anything significant about the victim's remains?"

"Oh, boo-hoo, poor Fisher," Hodgins taunted.

"Hey!" the intern answered with more passion than he normally displayed. "The tree killed her. You are the plant guy! Shouldn't you know something?"

"Ok, that's enough!" Cam called sternly. "Everyone calm down and focus. What do we know? That's the logical place to start."

"We know she died from manchineel toxin." Hodgins said.

Angela had entered and she spoke next. "We know she was a professor at Georgetown and a respected academic."

"We know her murder left no discernible evidence on her skeleton." Fisher sighed. "This is like the other ones, isn't it? The guy is disturbingly good. He's like a vindictive Jack the Ripper, only without the prostitutes."

Cam took in the dejected nods from Angela and Hodgins and made a decision. "Ok, that's enough. We aren't talking about this now."

"Cam, we have to figure out something," Hodgins protested.

"We will, but I get the feeling it's not going to happen if we keep on this same course." She squared her shoulders. "This is why you people need me around. You are brilliant, but your minds get too focused on the details and you can't see the forest for the trees." She waved her hands in dismissal. "Go back to work. Take one more look at everything we have on Dr. Cruz and this time try to think outside the box. There has to be a new angle."

"We've tried every angle," Hodgins snarled. "We've been doing this for months and we can't find anything on this guy."

"No, Dr. Hodgins, we've been doing this for years. I refuse to accept that one crazy madman is cleverer than this team." Cam waved her arms again. "As Dr. Brennan is so fond of pointing out, you are exceptional. And the rest of us aren't too bad. But brilliant or not, our greatest strength is our combined experience. So let's not turn on each other when we should be working together."

"Jack, didn't you tell me Dr. Cruz was a proponent of interdisciplinary studies?" Angela asked. When he nodded she smiled encouragingly. "Working together seems like the way she would want us to be."

"You think that worked?" Cam asked as Hodgins led Fisher away, their voices low but cordial as they discussed possible new approaches.

"I hope so," Angela answered. "I really hope so."

B&B

"Mr. Booth, I am so sorry to keep you waiting," Miss Elkins apologized. "I appreciate you waiting, it's a long walk to the music room and the children do need an escort. I'd hate to see what kind of mischief twenty-three fourth-graders could manage if I let them walk alone."

"No problem," Booth said turning away from the bulletin board covered in student's work.

"Did you find some of Parker's work on our High Achiever's Board?" she asked nodding at the wall as she moved to her desk.

The proud grin on his face grew wider. "Yeah, looks like Parks has a couple of good papers there."

"He actually deserves to be up there daily," the teacher admitted. "But there's a delicate balance between positive reinforcement for him and discouraging the kids who find the work more challenging."

Booth took the seat next to her desk and his voice showed his concern. "So I'm going to guess I'm not here because he failed a math test?"

"No," the young teacher said and she sighed. "Mr. Booth, I have a few years of experience as a teacher and in that time I've learned to deal with all sorts of situations. But today I encountered something with Parker that really threw me for a loop."

"What did he do?" Booth asked with dread.

"I'm afraid it's what I did."

"Huh?"

She sighed again and then opened her desk drawer. She began removing small items from the drawer as she spoke. "For about two weeks now I've been finding things on my desk, little presents like this." She held up a small figurine of a dog and for some reason Booth saw in his mind's eye a tiny pink pig. "I was very flattered but I had no idea who my secret admirer was…until today."

"Let me guess."

She nodded and set the dog down among the other trinkets. "I caught Parker leaving a gift on my desk this morning." Her eyes were troubled and she wore a look of regret. "I tried to explain to him that while I appreciated the gesture that it wasn't appropriate. It's the first time I've had to deal with this sort of thing and I'm afraid I didn't handle it very well. Parker grew embarrassed and upset. I didn't mean to hurt his feelings. That's why I asked to meet with you or his mother as soon as possible. I'm really very sorry, Mr. Booth, but I think I may have made a delicate situation much worse."

"I…uh…" Booth chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "Ok, I was expecting spitballs or a little roughhousing on the playground," he admitted ruefully. "I wasn't really prepared for the junior Casanova."

"You and me both," she agreed.

Booth smiled. He liked this young woman and he appreciated her concern for his son. "Well," he said giving her a charming smile that never failed. "At least we know he has good taste." A tiny blush tinted her cheeks and she suddenly looked young enough to be of interest to Parker. He offered her his hand and stood. "Thanks for the concern. It's nice to know you care about how he's reacting. His mom and I can discuss it and we'll take it from here."

"Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

As he made his way down the hall he tried to figure out just how he was supposed to handle this. He dialed a number as he neared his SUV and wondered just when it had become time to deal with this sort of thing. His musing was cut short when his call was answered. "Becks, you aren't going to believe this one," he began.

B&B

After a check with Turner that only increased the sense of failure on this case, Booth headed for the lab hoping there was something new from the geniuses. He was surprised when he found Sweets shadowing Brennan like one of her interns. "What are you doing here?" he asked as he joined them and took the second chair in front of Brennan's desk.

"I was looking for you."

"I had something to take care of," he explained bobbing his head in the general direction of the door.

"How did it go?" Brennan asked looking up for the first time. "Is Parker alright?"

"I'll tell you later," Booth promised with a smile that thanked her for the concern. "Sweets, as long as you're here," he said shifting back to the more important business of the day. "Do you have anything for us on this guy? Cam has the squints trying new things and Turner and I are chasing down leads that are barely there. What can you give us?"

The profiler took a moment to think and then nodded. "New approach, ok yeah that might work. Up until now we've discussed Creeps as an individual. That he's really just all id, and there is no super-ego, no grownup controlling his behavior."

"Is that another way of saying he's nuts?" Booth asked.

"Sure," Sweets agreed. "But it's not that simple. And maybe instead of trying to examine him so closely we should step back and take a look at the bigger picture."

"What bigger picture?" Brennan demanded.

"While each individual murder is committed with intent they remain a part of the larger whole. He has a purpose in his actions and identifying the greater ambition may provide insight we are overlooking. Generally speaking, humanity is fairly predictable. We act on patterns, subconsciously for the most part, some passed down from one generation to the next, but these repetitive actions reveal a great deal about who we are. The more psychologically immature a person is the more likely they are to repeat the same relational patterns over and over." He looked at them both and shook his head for emphasis. "And, dude, Creeps is mega-immature. I suggest we forget about the minutiae and look more closely at the overall commonalities."

"If we could identify commonalities, Booth would have arrested him by now," Brennan argued. "Only two victims share the same profession. There is a variety of genders, ethnicities and socio-economic positions. There is no statistical similarity in the victims."

"There is a connection," Sweets insisted. "He works carefully; his victims are not chosen at random."

"That's true," Brennan grudgingly admitted.

"So let's line it out," Booth said eagerly.

"This is useless," Brennan argued. "I need facts, not conjecture.

"Come on, Bones, just try. You are smarter than me. What do you see? Big themes, broad spectrum that's anthropology, right?"

Brennan's glare told him she did not like having Sweet's theory turned on her own field but she did give the matter some thought. "They are complex."

"Good, Dr. Brennan," Sweets agreed. "Intellectualization is a common pattern, he's going out of his way to make the deaths intricate and yet leave no trace. He's trying to prove that he's unique."

"A unique pattern," Booth muttered in speculation. "So what you see is a spoiled brat? His idea of throwing a fit is to murder people in the most unique way he can find?"

Brennan was shaking her head. "This is pointless. I need facts, Booth. Sweets can call it whatever he wants, but this is nothing more than conjecture. Looking for commonalities is guesswork." She stood and on quick feet moved toward the door. "I'm going back to the remains. There is something to learn. I will find it."

"Bones, wait," Booth objected as he darted after her. He stopped her in the middle of the room and forced her to turn. "You've already examined the body twice. You didn't find anything and you don't miss stuff. We are getting there, I know it. Don't give up now."

She began shaking her head before he even finished speaking. "I need…"

"Answers, I know!" Booth finished, his voice rising with the heat of his frustration with her stubborn refusal.

"Yes! And I won't find them in soft science drivel!"

"You tell him, Dr. B," Hodgins cheered as he entered the room.

"Back off, squint," Booth growled jabbing a finger in the scientist's direction. "This is between me and Bones."

"Hey man, I just came to tell her that I'm running a new test. Don't blame me that you are trying to convince her that Sweets' mumbo-jumbo is going to work."

"Whoa, mumbo-jumbo is a little harsh, Dr. Hodgins," Sweets objected as he too rose to his feet.

"Harsh is six dead bodies," Hodgins answered.

"Ok, we're done," Cam announced as she and Angela stepped into Brennan's office. "It's time to call it a night before this team is mired in self-defeat."

"I'm not going home," Hodgins declared. "I'm going to take another look at the latest beetle."

"We're leaving," Angela insisted as she pulled him from the room. "Cam ordered us to sleep on it and that's exactly what you are going to do."

B&B

Sweets watched Angela drag Hodgins out the door and then turned. He felt a bit intrusive as he realized the partners were having a rather intimate discussion of their angry exchange. He sank quietly back to his chair trying not to intrude but fascinated by the moment. He couldn't hear their exact words, but he did catch an occasional 'sorry' and at least one 'I love you' that let him know they were quickly diffusing the tension that had sparked.

When Brennan finally took a step back from the intimate stance in which they had been engaged, Sweets cleared his throat for attention. Booth's eyebrow lifted in surprise. "We're going home now Sweets," he teased as he retrieved Brennan's jacket from her coatrack. "This is the part you can't watch."

"Can I talk to you two for a minute?"

The partners shared a look. It was impossible to miss the insecurity in their friend's voice and they both felt that instinctive need to protect him. Booth returned the jacket to its place on the rack and they turned together to face him. "What's up?"

"Daisy came to see me."

"Ah," Booth said nodding with some sympathy.

"I need some advice."

"From us?" Brennan blurted in surprise.

"Bones, don't say it like we don't know anything. We have been there."

"Been where?"

"In a place where you need to be cordial to your ex," Sweets answered.

Brennan's brow creased with her confusion. "Booth and I have no experience as ex-lovers. Our current relationship is a first for us."

"That's not completely accurate, Dr. Brennan," Sweets argued. "When you two split for your sabbaticals that was very much like the severing of a committed romantic relationship."

"Yeah, ok," Booth interrupted feeling uncomfortable at the mention of what had been. "Let's not dwell on it, Sweets. Things were complicated back then. They aren't now; moving on."

"That's exactly my point," Sweets answered. "How did you move on? How were you able to resolve the issues associated with Dr. Brennan choosing her work over you? When you came back from your trips you were able to work together and somehow you managed to build on what had already happened. I'm supposed to meet Daisy in ten minutes for a drink at the Founding Fathers. How do I go sit with her and get past all that has been between us? I thought I had worked through all this emotional baggage over her leaving me, but when I saw her walk into my office it came rolling back like a freight train."

"Does Agent Turner know you are meeting Daisy?" Brennan demanded.

Sweets smiled at the protective question. "Of course she knows. She understands that I'm only going so I can finally put some things behind me." His eyes turned to Booth and he was pleading for help. "I'm just not sure how to do that."

Booth looked at Brennan as he considered his answer. Was it like the kid suggested? The two of them had been together in almost every way back then, but it wasn't that simple. They had been partners then, closer than most, equally dependent on the other. But, it was nothing compared to what they had now.

"It wasn't a 'relationship'," he said turning to Sweets and taking Brennan's hand in his. She squeezed her agreement as he continued. "Our situation was different, Sweets. You and Daisy were supposed to be committed to one another. Bones and I…" he glanced at her and her tiny smile matched the one he was wearing. "We weren't there yet. We were both in the middle of our own emotional crisis and we both understood that the separation was what we needed."

"So, what Daisy did was worse," Sweets said, all the old pain and anger returning to fill his voice with emotion he had thought was passed.

"Maybe," Brennan allowed. "But, it would be my observation that the end result was a net benefit."

"I'm better off because of it."

"The separation was painful for all of us, Sweets," Booth said gently. "Bones and I went into it in trouble and we came out stronger."

Brennan moved closer to her partner and slipped her arm around his waist as she continued his point. "It gave us the perspective to realize that the only person who will ever truly understand us and accept everything we are is the other."

"We learned just how special our partnership is." Booth's voice was soft and tender and his arm moved around Brennan's shoulders to hold her tight. It still amazed him to know he had her, to know that there was someone who understood him, who accepted the good and all the bad that lay beneath it, and still wanted him. She wanted to wake up next to him every morning and go to sleep next to him at night just as much as he wanted that with her. He wondered if the kid could truly understand how rare that was. He looked at his friend and tried to help him see. "For you it was different, Sweets, but you learned from it and I think we all know you are better for it."

* * *

><p>Angela slipped her arm around Jack's and laid her head on his shoulder as they walked slowly out of the building. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her hair making her smile and she tightened her hug of his appendage. "Can we take a walk?" she asked.<p>

"I'm not really in the mood, Ange," he started to refuse.

Lifting her head she kissed his cheek and pleaded in a needy voice that usually got her anything she wanted. "Please Jack? There's only a few minutes of sunlight left and you know how pretty the garden is this time of day." Her smile grew naughty and she pressed a soft kiss to his neck before whispering in his ear. "Besides, you know you can't walk past them without lecturing about them and I always get turned on when you talk about flowers."

Jack changed direction and they strolled into the rose garden. His mood was somber and Angela remained quiet allowing him a few moments to feel his turmoil. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked after they rounded the bend in the path.

"They are growing Siberian squill," Hodgins noted, nodding toward the small blue flowers that covered the green expanse beneath the trees.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know." He bent and plucked one tiny flower from its stem. "They bloom early and cover the grass in a sea of blue. They don't last long; they'll seed and go dormant by the time grounds crews need to mow. But they are the first promise that good things are to come."

"I love your poetic side. Good things will come, Jack," she promised tenderly cupping her hand against his cheek.

"Every time I find a clue it's not enough," he said voicing his greatest torment. "I found the parasites on the ants after he killed Alice and he was already long gone. I found the carbon signature in the beetle's exoskeleton after he killed Bruce but that came too late too."

"The next time you find something it won't be too late."

"You don't know that Ange."

"You don't know it's not true."

Jack chuckled. "You are spending too much time with Brennan. That was a thoroughly rational argument."

"You like it better when I spin off on a tangent?"

He resumed their walk and wrapped his arm around her. "Of course I prefer it."

"What are those?" Angela asked as the white flowers growing low along the path caught her eye.

"Those are double flowering bloodroot."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," he answered through a chuckle. "Why?"

"It's just an odd name for something so beautiful. They look so pristine and pure."

"They are toxic."

Angela sighed. "Like the tree. What is it with Mother Nature?" she asked wryly. "Did we piss her off? I never knew there were so many killer plants around."

"They are everywhere," Jack assured her.

"It's a shame," Angela said still looking at the white blooms. "Those are really very pretty. They were cheering me up until you said they could kill me."

"They aren't quite that powerful," Jack corrected.

A small sound behind them caught his attention and he turned. His face registered some shock to find a man standing not far away. He hadn't realized anyone else was out here. In the fading light it was hard to see him clearly and Jack tensed to be caught off guard as he was. When the man stepped closer the fading light revealed a rather small man, about his size with large gray eyes that almost gleamed in the waning daylight. His lank dark hair hung past his ears and he wore a hat from under which he sported a slightly troubling smile.

"Lovely evening," he said in a crisp voice. "So sorry to interrupt, I'm just passing by."

"No trouble," Jack said watching closely as the man passed.

Angela ignored the man as she watched Jack. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just think I should know that guy. He looks familiar."

"He probably works in one of the other buildings," Angela said dismissively. "You know how odd some curators can be." Her arm once again slipped through the crook of his and she tugged gently. "Come on, how about you buy me dinner and I let you get lucky?"

Neither noticed that the strange man stood in the shadows watching until they were out of sight.

B&B

Brennan turned her head from the passing scene outside her window and looked at the silent man next to her. Something was troubling him. Their conversation with Sweets had revealed much and she still felt the connection that had filled her with warmth and comfort as they discussed Sweets' fears. The events of the last year had taught them much and they were not the same. She was not the same. The most important lesson she had learned was her certainty about her place at Booth's side. Holding tight to that feeling she reached for his hand. "What's wrong Booth?"

He helped fit their hands together and glanced away from the road long enough to meet her concerned eyes and shrug. "I'm a little stuck."

"With the case? We're all stuck. That is why Cam insisted we 'call it a night'."

"No, that's not what I meant, but nice use of the phrase." He sighed and then shared what was bothering him. "He's only ten, Bones!"

"Parker?"

"Yeah," Booth admitted. "We pick him up in five minutes and I have no idea what to say to him. I'm not ready for this, Bones. I need more time. We shouldn't have to talk about his heart being crushed by a girl for at least a few more years."

"You sound panicked."

"I am!" He sighed and pulled his hand free of hers to run it over his neck and then up through his hair. "This is one of those times when I feel completely in over my head."

"You have faced other uncertainties as a father," Brennan reminded him. "Like that time you were forced to improvise when you lost his diaper bag while in the park or when he was five and he asked you why your body had more hair than his."

Booth shook his head. "I'm going to be more careful about what stories I tell you for our daily sharing."

"You have figured out what to say to him before," Brennan insisted. "You will know now."

Booth reclaimed her hand and lifted it to his lips. They were stopped at a light and he leaned across for a second kiss against her lips. "Thanks, Bones."

B&B

Sweets stopped at the bar and ordered a drink before he approached the table. Taking a quick sip for courage he squared his shoulders and went to join his ex. "Hello, Daisy," he said pleased to hear no sign of the insecurity he felt sounding in his voice.

"Thanks for meeting me, Lance." She smiled far too broadly as if she were impossibly happy to see him. "You are looking very handsome," she gushed. "You made an excellent choice in neckwear today. I always adore that color on you! It makes your eyes sparkle."

Sweets ignored the compliment and offered only a polite response. "Thanks. How have you been?"

"I've been very busy," she said as if it were an accomplishment. "My time in Maluku was very rewarding. Working with Dr. Brennan as I did was the single greatest learning experience of my life."

"That's great."

"But it wasn't the greatest time in my life," she added. Her hand reached across the table. "I didn't recognize that when it was happening, but time away has helped me see…."

Sweets jerked away from her sloshing his drink as he escaped the touch she had made to his hand. "Don't do that, Daisy."

"Lancelot," she pouted.

"I asked you not to call me that."

His tone was cold and commanding, sounding almost alien as it issued from his boyish façade and she pouted. "I'm sorry."

Her wheedling tone set his teeth on edge. How had he ever fallen for that? "What did you think was going to happen here, Daisy?" he asked pointedly. "Did you think you were going to come back and I would welcome you with open arms? That I would just let you pick up where you left me?"

"I thought…Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth…."

"Don't," Sweets snapped. "Don't you dare compare what they have to the shallow, juvenile interaction we called a relationship. You left me Daisy. You chose your career over me and didn't bat an eyelash when I said I didn't want you to go. You manipulated me. And I let you," he added, taking his share of the blame. "But we aren't going back there. You chose to move on. I did the same. If that was the happiest time of your life I'm proud to have been part of it. But it's over."

Daisy's mouth was clamped shut held in a firm line of anger. She gathered her things and with as much dignity as she could manage she stood. "Have a pleasant evening, Dr. Sweets."

He sat watching her leave. He knew he should feel guilty about the way that had played out. He didn't regret the words, they needed to be said and he felt an enormous sense of satisfaction for having said them. But, he did wish that he had been less hurtful.

"Sent her packing, huh?"

He looked up shocked to find Turner standing over him. "Are you spying on me?" he asked as she took the seat next to him.

"I'm an FBI agent, its called surveillance."

"Claude…"

"You need your own therapy if you think I was going to let that little conversation happen without giving you back up." He wasn't sure how to respond to that and his mouth dropped open slightly as he struggled to respond. Turner chuckled and leaned close, letting one arm loop around his as the other lifted and her fingers touched his cheek. "I didn't eavesdrop," she assured him. "I just wanted to be close enough to make certain that she didn't hurt you again."

"She didn't."

"Yeah, it was kinda hot when you were kicking the ex to the curb," she answered with a darker tone.

"Well," he said his chest puffing slightly at her intentions. "She was hinting for another chance, but that's not going to happen. Know why?" he asked as he leaned into her space.

"Why?"

The inviting smile on her lips lifted his own smile into a cocky leer. "I don't waste time with little girls anymore," he bragged. "I have the sexiest, most loving, beautiful woman any man can imagine. I didn't even want to be here. I just wanted to be home. With you."

Turner smiled triumphantly. "Let's go, Doc."

B&B

Booth put it off as long as he could, but with dinner over and bedtime approaching, he was running out of time. He scolded himself for his reluctance. He was a Ranger, a Sergeant-Major of the US Army, a FBI Special Agent, why was he frightened of a ten-year old boy? Because this was his ten-year old boy and saying the wrong thing, not having the right answer when his son needed him, was his biggest fear. Admitting it made it easier to face and he marched himself into the living room with determination. "Hey, Bub," he said taking a seat next to his son.

Parker was playing his video game but he spoke up as soon as his father joined him. "Dad, is Bones spending the night with us tonight?"

"She was planning on it," Booth answered. "Is that ok with you?"

"Sure," Parker answered giving a shrug without losing focus on his game. "I like it when Bones is with us. She's the best girlfriend you've ever had."

"Park, pause the game," Booth ordered gently. He waited until Parker complied and then he continued. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Ok. What's up?"

"First, I'm glad you like that Bones is my girlfriend. Your opinion is important. You are important to both of us and it makes us happy that you approve."

"Sure, Dad. Bones is the best!"

"Second," Booth said forcing himself to move on past the easy stuff. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened at school today. I had a talk with Miss Elkins."

Parker's eyes dropped and he watched his hands twist together in a nervous fidget. "Oh."

"Did you understand what Miss Elkins was telling you?"

"Yeah, I promise," Parker said quickly. "I won't do it again, Dad. I'm sorry."

"Park, I'm not mad."

"You aren't?"

"No, buddy, I'm not mad. I just want to make sure you are ok. Miss Elkins was afraid she hurt your feelings."

"She didn't hurt my feelings," Parker assured him. "I get it. She's a grownup, I'm just a kid."

Booth nodded. "She really likes you, Park, but not that way."

"Yeah, Dad I get it. She explained it. Can I go get ready for bed?"

Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but eager for a way out of this conversation Booth nodded. "Sure, Bub." Booth watched Parker leave the room, feeling like a chicken but thankful the moment was over. He heard the floor creak with a step and looked over his shoulder as Brennan entered. "Don't say it," he said before she could speak. "I know I blew it."

"You allowed him to go before you said the things you had prepared."

"I know," he said leaning back in dejection. "I just felt so lost. I don't want to make it worse. He said he was fine."

"When I say I'm fine, you tell me I'm lying." She took a seat next to him turning her body to face him and she let her fingers sift through his hair as she tried to ease his turmoil. "If it is important you will find a way to say it."

"Thanks," he said letting his head drop back against the cushion as her touch relaxed him. His hand slid slowly over her thigh and he tried to still his nerves.

"I'd like to share my secret with you."

"Now? We usually do that at bedtime?"

Brennan smiled rather knowingly and her touch to his head slowed as her nails scraped across his scalp. "We are likely to be busy at bedtime." His hand squeezed her leg and she took that as agreement. She had given this some thought and she knew what she wanted to tell him. Sometimes their secrets were small, unimportant things that were shared simply because no one else knew them. Sometimes they told each other things because the other needed to hear them. She thought this was such a time. "Do you recall the Aaron McCall case?"

Booth cocked his head. "The kid that was murdered by his case worker? Yeah, that was a long time ago, one of our first cases, but I remember it."

"You were very kind to me regarding that case."

Booth's eyes softened and he brushed his fingers against her cheek. "I knew it was a tough one for you, Bones. Aaron was an orphan and in the system. I knew it bothered you the way he seemed forgotten."

"It was very early in our partnership, but you knew. You knew I was hurting and you stayed with me after the case was closed. You talked to me and helped me. You didn't have to do that, Booth but you did. I didn't know what to say about what I was feeling, but you did. You said all the right things and it helped."

"Aw, Bones..."

"No, honestly, Booth. You found the words. You'll find the words now." She smiled and snuggled down into the crook of his arm letting him wrap her in a hug. "That was when I decided to dedicate my second novel to you. To thank you for that night; to thank you for saying the words I needed to hear."

"Bones, you told me you dedicated your second book to me so I would stop complaining about Andy being me."

She giggled. "And you believed that?" He hugged her tight and they sat quietly for a moment. "Have the talk with Parker, Booth," she advised quietly. "You will know what to say when it is time."

Booth held her tight feeling a dizzying joy in response to the love she was giving him. She was trying so hard to be there for him. Her effort was the most flattering thing he had ever been given. Suddenly he was struck by the need to share with her something equally important. His eyes moved across his living room and he knew what it should be.

"Bones, do you ever wonder why I have so many clocks?"

"I assumed it was something you collected, like your baseball cards or Parker's spacemen figurines."

"Those are Star Wars characters not spacemen," he corrected quickly. "Boba Fett is not some generic astronaut. Anyway, it's not because I collect them." He stopped needing another moment before he continued and she pulled back enough to meet his gaze as she realized this was important. He smiled weakly and there was a darkness in his eyes that prompted her to reach for his hand.

"When I was a POW, I spent most of my time in solitary." Brennan's hand tightened around his and he held on tight taking the strength he needed for his words from her strong grip. "There wasn't anything to help mark the passage of time. No windows so you could tell what time of day it was. I'm pretty sure they didn't even feed us regular, so there was no schedule you could use to figure out what time of day it was. When I was pulled out of there I had no idea how long it had been. The days seemed impossibly long, Bones. To sit there hour after hour, day after day with nothing to look at, no way of knowing where you were or what was happening. It nearly drove me insane."

"I thought it had been held a couple of weeks; the longest weeks of my life, but just two weeks. When the guys in the unit that found me told me what day it was I thought they were kidding. It was forty-eight days, Bones. Forty-eight days. I lost almost two months. Six and a half weeks with no idea what time it was."

"Six weeks was long enough for the bones in your feet to begin to heal improperly. That's why they had to re-break them."

He nodded. "They broke them when they took me. That way I couldn't make a run for it. They broke them and then threw me in that cell. It was dark. I'm not afraid of the dark, I could deal with that. But the time, Bones. The time stretched out like some unending promise of never. I thought it was going to last forever."

Tears pooled in her eyes as Brennan considered what that had been like. The broken bones would have been excruciatingly painful and he would have been completely unable to bear his own weight. He would have been forced to lie there in pain completely alone and suffering. The added torture of not knowing the day or the hour would have been a disorienting burden. It might have broken a weaker man. "And so you keep clocks," she observed softly.

"Now I keep clocks."

Her tears slid down her cheeks and he pulled her close. "I'm sorry," he breathed as he kissed her softly. "I'm sorry. Don't cry, I'm sorry, Bones."

Brennan clung to him and she shook her head. "Thank you. Thank you for sharing that with me, Booth. I want to know. I want to know it all."

* * *

><p>Brennan's steps echoed in the quiet lab as she walked briskly across the polished floor. The general lab was still lit only by the dim lights used at night but a glow coming from Hodgins' office let her know he was already in. She wasn't surprised and she could admit the same frustration that had prompted him to arrive before dawn was the reason she had rolled from Booth's warm bed at this hour. The only way to fight this desperation for answers was to keep trying. Sweets could lecture all he wanted on patterns and psychological theory but she had never seen a murder solved without hard evidence. Hanging her jacket on her coatrack, she slipped on her lab coat and headed for the ookey room. They had samples from each of the remains that had passed through the Jeffersonian and she wanted to take a look at them collectively.<p>

The main doors parted as she neared the small room where her specimens lay and she paused to greet her friend. "Good morning, Angela. You are up early."

"Yeah, well...we couldn't sleep," Angela answered her eyes darting to Jack's office. "I have a query running through the data we've collected on Creeps and I figured while that was working I had time to pick up breakfast. Want a bagel?" Brennan's eyes moved to the door of the small lab and the artist nodded with understanding. "You go get started. I'll bring you something in a bit."

Brennan eagerly got to work and the morning silence helped her slip into the kind of total concentration that allowed her to truly study the evidence. Angela had just set a bagel and coffee at her elbow when hurried steps sounded behind them. She looked up and found Fisher sliding to a stop as he careened through the doorway. He pulled his ear buds from his ears as she greeted him. "Good morning, Mr. Fisher."

"Dr. Brennan," the intern responded with no surprise to find her already at work. "At the hospital we did an exercise where we tried to empathize with others. To put ourselves in their situation and explore the emotional issues, it is supposed to help us identify our own neurosis. I've been trying it with Creeps, to think like him. I had an idea."

"All ideas are worth pursuing, Mr. Fisher," she approved with a nod.

Fisher bobbed his head in thanks and placed the speakers back in his ears. He busied himself at another station and Angela returned with breakfast for him.

The artist was moving to her office to check the status of her search when Cam exited hers. "Everyone is here?" the coroner asked as she shrugged on her lab coat.

"Yeah, there's breakfast if you are interested."

"I ate a little something with Paul," Cam answered. "And I'm about to reexamine our latest victim's tissue. I don't need a full stomach."

"Ange," Brennan called as she stepped from the ookey room. "Booth says PD found something. He's sending you raw video."

"I'm on it!" Angela said as she hurried to her office.

"A break?" Cam asked Brennan with a raised eyebrow.

"Perhaps," the scientist allowed. "But, I would reserve judgment until we have more data."

"Maybe, but we sure as hell need one," Cam muttered as she headed for her autopsy room.

B&B

"Hey, Booth you wanted to see me?"

"Yeah," the agent answered waving him into the conference room. "DC-PD found Dr. Cruz's car. It was parked at the drug store two blocks from her house."

"So, you have a likely last known location?"

"Right. Her purchase is actually in the car so with the receipt we not only can confirm location but time."

"That's a good clue!"

"I'd like to think so, but I'm not holding my breath. Anyway, the employees working that night are here. Bones is tied up at the lab and Turner is checking out some other details, so I wanted you to sit in on the interview."

"Third string, thanks," Sweets joked.

"Better than JV, Kid," Booth answered playfully.

The hope they had at finding a possible clue and their light emotion of a playful exchange began to fade as they questioned the potential witnesses. "Unbelievable," Booth growled as he led Sweets away from their final interview. "Even when we find a clue, there's nothing to it! How can no one remember anything?"

Sweets saw the familiar frustration building. Each time the team encountered Creeps the mental strain and psychological burden grew more complex. He was desperate as the rest of them to apprehend the serial killer, but the longer these cases dragged on the less he was concerned with justice and the more with his friends' stress levels. "Booth, we've talked about this." They entered Booth's office and he closed the door behind them, hoping privacy would help the agent talk about it. "He goes out of his way to appear non-threatening. The victims don't realize the danger until it is too late. It is highly unlikely that others around them even notice his presence."

Booth's phone chirped and his troubled eyes dropped to it, eager for something to focus on besides the truth Sweets wanted him to face. It was Angela calling and he put her on speaker. "What's up, Angela?"

"I have something for you," she answered. "Security footage from the bookstore next door shows Dr. Cruz leaving the drug store."

"Let me see!" His fingers scrambled over his keyboard and he quickly activated his communication link with the museum. Angela had her information waiting and with one click he was watching their victim stroll casually from the store.

Sweets leaned over the desk and watched with him as Cruz walked straight to her car and unlocked the door. There was no sound on the video but it was clear that as she opened her door a noise of some sort caught her attention. The chemist reacted, lifting her head with interest. She then tossed the bag she carried into her car, shut the door and walked purposefully across the parking lot away from the building she had exited. There was a smile on her face until she disappeared from view.

"That's all I've got," Angela apologized. "I've tried everything, but I can't do any more with it. There are no reflective surfaces, no other feeds, and no way to see what she saw. If she had walked in almost any other direction I would have footage from another camera."

"He knew where the dead spot was."

"Yeah."

"She knew him," Sweets said confidently.

"Huh?"

"The way she reacted," he explained. "She looked up like someone was calling her by name. She smiled with genuine warmth. There was no alarm, she was casual and relaxed. The way she walks off camera is just a regular everyday walk with no concern, haste or alarm."

"She trusted him?" Angela said sickened by the implication.

"He's a tricky bastard," Booth agreed darkly.

B&B

Booth could feel it the moment he walked through the sliding doors. The tension in the lab was high. There were no raised voices today, no frustrated scientists venting their lack of progress with shouts. Instead there was a sense of need that permeated the air and everywhere he looked he could see squints working diligently. They saw him coming and without Cam needing to order it they each left their work stations and joined him so that they were all gathered in Cam's office.

Booth moved to the wall of data they had collected over the last few months. Each of Creeps' murders was detailed, the facts listed as if by enumerating the basics the truth would reveal itself. The information displayed stretched around the room like a banner of inhumanity. He paused long enough to survey each face of those they had yet to find justice for. Alone, each one of them was enough motivation to find the truth, combined and unsatisfied they gave him the same desperation he knew the whole team felt. "I have to ask," Booth said half apologizing before he began. "Anything?"

There were slight movements of negation in every direction but only Cam answered. "We'll find it. We haven't hit pay dirt yet but today has been promising. We're coming at it from new angles and I'm certain we'll find it."

"I know it's been said," Hodgins added. "But Creeps McGee is no fool. These murders are so well planned I don't think we could do a better job ourselves."

It was just another admission that their foe was good at his game. Each of them had said the same at one time or another, but as the words left Hodgins' lips both Booth and Brennan reacted. Their eyes met and instinctively they knew the other had had the same thought.

"Why didn't we think of this before?" Booth asked her.

"I'm certain we have and simply overlooked it. But, I admit it does seem obvious."

"What seems obvious?" Angela demanded.

Booth broke the eye lock he shared with Brennan and turned his face to her. "Creeps is a genius."

"Well…yeah," Angela scoffed. "We knew that didn't we?"

Hodgins' head was cocked as he thought about it. "But we hadn't actually said it," he mumbled thinking aloud.

"Ok!" Booth said clapping his hands to break the pondering silence. "This is it, squints. This is where the gut hunch pays off. Think!" His head swiveled to Hodgins. "Think, Hodgins. There aren't that many of you brilliant types, what's the best way to track him?"

"The question we should ask," Brennan argued, "Is what kind of degrees could he have that would give him the baseline knowledge he's demonstrated?"

"Yeah, yeah," Hodgins said excited by the line of thought. "Ok, let me think. Obviously entomology, the dude is serious about his bugs."

"I'm going to say Chemistry," Angela added.

"Why?"

"He killed two chemists," she reminded them. "Skill or no, they did something to piss him off. My money is on him being a chemist."

"That would allow for knowledge concerning many of his acts," Brennan agreed.

"I'm going to tentatively rule out an MD," Cam said thoughtfully. "He's displayed some knowledge of the body, but nothing has made me suspect he has formal training."

"I'm taking notes," Angela said as she gave them an excited smile. "If we identify some areas of expertise I can start cross referencing academic records with MENSA, Rhodes awards and selective fellowships."

"Ok, bugs and chem, but not med," Booth said as he popped to his feet.

"Booth, don't pace," Brennan chided. "There isn't that much floor space in this office."

"I'll share it," he said as he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"Booth! What are we doing?" she laughed as he held her close and began to sway.

"We're dancing, Bones," he said playfully. "Because I'm telling you right now this is going to get us somewhere."

B&B

They didn't notice her approach because they were each focused on the other and so when Daisy pulled out the chair across from them both Sweets and Turner looked shocked. "Hello!" the anthropologist said with a bounce. "Mind if I join you?" She didn't wait for an invitation and took the seat. "I'm Daisy," she said extending her hand to Turner.

"Special Agent Claudia Turner," she answered grasping the hand for a firm shake.

"Daisy, what are you doing?" Sweets stammered. "I thought…after last night…."

"Oh, don't be silly, Lance," Daisy answered cutting off his question before he could state it. "Maybe my feelings were a little hurt, but I was just being silly. I'm over it."

"Of course," Turner agreed evenly.

Daisy's eyes flashed to the agent and then back to her ex. "I'm not stalking you or anything, I just haven't had a chance to eat at the diner and you know how much I love their tuna melt. I couldn't pass up the opportunity since my afternoon is free. And then I saw the two of you sitting here and I just thought it was perfect! I really wanted to get to meet Candace."

"Claudia," Sweets corrected with a frown.

"I'm glad you aren't stalking him," Turner joked. "I'd hate to arrest you."

"What?" Daisy asked seeming to be confused by the statement.

"Stalking Lance, that's a felony."

"I was joking," Daisy answered. "Wasn't I Lance?"

"I'm sure you were," Turner answered calmly. "I just don't find Lance a joking matter." She pushed her empty plate back and tossed her napkin on it. "I'm sure you two have things to discuss. Last night's meeting really didn't last very long. If you'll excuse me, I really need to be getting back to work."

She dismissed Daisy and turned to face Sweets. "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah," he answered with a grin. She leaned in for a kiss and he spoke quietly. "You enjoyed that didn't you?"

"Oh yeah."

He laughed softly and accepted the kiss she offered. His eyes followed her as she stood and when her hand caressed his cheek he turned his head and kissed her palm. "I'll see you later."

"Nice to meet you, Dandelion," Turner said giving the clearly jealous woman a flippant glance as she walked away from the table.

"She's very…FBI," Daisy stated trying to find a response to what had just happened.

"She is amazing," Sweets corrected his eyes still on the woman who was walking confidently away.

* * *

><p>"Let me have him," Angela said lifting Macon from Cam's lap. "Hello, you little angel," she cooed. "I just love holding him. He's so happy, it makes you happy."<p>

Cam grinned as the baby responded to the playful smiles the artist was giving him. "He is the best way to forget about this place," she agreed.

Angela grunted as she took a seat on the sofa. "I could use a little of that; just a break from it while we wait for a lead."

"I am optimistic about the data you are compiling," Brennan said as she joined them.

"We can hope," Angela agreed as she held Macon over her head and made him squeal.

"Ange, how is Hodgins?" Cam asked. As the boss she needed to know, but there was nothing but concern for her friend in her voice.

The question brushed the smile from her lips and Angela hugged Macon close taking comfort in holding him. "He's doing ok, but he blames himself every time we find a new victim. I'm not sure how many more he can take."

"He'll be ok," Cam promised. "He has you to lean on."

"Whether he likes it or not," she responded with a chuckle.

As her two friends shared a smile over that comment, Brennan considered her own effort to be supportive of Booth through his parenting crisis. She hoped she had been of as much benefit as Angela obviously was to Hodgins. "How do you know if your efforts are successful?" she asked aloud.

"Oh, Sweetie, you are always there for Booth."

"We have been through a great many trying situations as partners," Brennan agreed. "But things are different now."

"Not really," Cam objected. "Brennan, you two have always had the deepest connection. You can't be broken, I learned that lesson quickly. And this new part of your relationship doesn't require anything that you weren't already giving each other. But, it's not just you. It's all of us. This team is strong because we have one another. Creeps is trying, but he can't break us."

"Absolutely," Angela agreed, although she sounded almost desperate to believe it.

They were silent for a moment, each reflecting on the struggle that they all felt over Creeps' freedom. Finally Cam stood, determined to move forward despite another unsolved murder. "Ok, he's happy now, but I guarantee you if I don't get him home he's going to be very cranky very soon." She reached for her son and Angela handed him over. "I'll see you both tomorrow."

"Night, Cam," Angela called and Brennan echoed the same sentiment. "What are you up to tonight, Bren?" she asked when they were alone.

"I'm going to prepare a surprise for Booth. He is uncomfortable about something he must do and I want provide an opportunity for him to discuss it if he wishes."

Angela chuckled as they left Cam's office and walked toward Brennan's. "Like Cam said…unbreakable."

As Brennan collected her things, Angela retreated to her own office. "Good night, Sweetie," she said as they met at her door.

"Are you not going home?"

Angela nodded toward Jack's office. "You need to get home to be there for him. Right now I need to be here for the same reason."

Brennan nodded with understanding. "Don't let him stay too long. There is much we might learn once your computer search is finished."

"I won't, but he won't wait either." They parted and as Brennan walked through the exit Angela stepped into Hodgins' office. Without a word she took a seat and flipped open the sketch pad she had retrieved from her office. With a glance at the clock she noted the time. One hour, she would give him one hour and then she was taking him home. Part of being there for him was forcing him to walk away.

B&B

"You ready to see your mom?" Booth asked glancing at the boy seated in the passenger seat.

"Sure." Parker answered with a shrug. "But, I wouldn't mind staying with you another night."

"I'd love that, Bub, but Mom missed you a lot. She would be pretty disappointed if she didn't see you tonight."

"I guess so." The conversation wasn't holding his attention and Parker moved on to something more interesting. "Hey, Dad, did you catch him?"

"Catch who?"

"The bad guy. You and Bones have a case, right? I could tell you were talking about one. Did you get him?"

Booth sighed. "No, not yet. But we will."

"You guys always get 'em," Parker agreed with confidence.

He turned to look out the window at the park they were passing and Booth wrestled the last of his reluctance into submission. Signaling before he could change his mind he dropped out of the flow of traffic and eased the truck into a parking space. "Mom is eager to see you, but how about we stop for a game of hoops?"

Parker agreed with enthusiasm and they were quickly on their way to an empty court. "Ok, you have to take it easy on your old man," Booth joked as he removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. I'm not exactly dressed for a game."

"Yeah, they don't wear side arms in the NBA," Parker answered bouncing the ball he had carried from the SUV.

"Very funny," Booth answered and swatted the ball from his son's hands.

The game began immediately and there was as much laughter and trash talk as there were baskets made. As Parker took a shot Booth eased up, feeling now was as good a time as he would find for this conversation. "Good one, Bub," he praised the basket. "You are getting pretty good; must be because you are getting older."

"I'm stronger, I think," Parker agreed. "The ball doesn't seem as heavy."

He passed the ball to his dad and Booth took both the ball and the opening. "Lots of things change as you get older. Like how strong you are, or how you feel about girls."

"Girls are ok," Parker agreed without any real commitment.

Booth dribbled moving toward the basket but allowing the boy to play defense despite their size difference, the game making it easier to continue. "Girls are going to be a big deal the older you get. They can make you do crazy things and you don't even know why you are doing it."

The ball clanged off the rim and Parker scurried to catch it. "How come?" he asked.

"Well, how come you were giving Miss Elkins those gifts?"

Parker shrugged as he dribbled. "I don't know. Because she is nice and I wanted her to like me."

"That's the same reason every time with girls."

"Really?"

"Yep. Snap your wrist more," he corrected as Parker's shot fell short. He caught the rebound and quickly put it back in the hoop. "Park, the older you get the more you are going to want certain girls to like you. It can be pretty confusing. I want you to know we can talk about it, ok? If stuff is happening, you can ask me for help."

"Maybe I should have asked you before I gave Miss Elkins all that stuff."

"Maybe, but it wasn't so bad. She was flattered you know."

"Really?"

Booth tried not to show how amused he was at the smile his son was sporting. "She was definitely impressed. And I don't blame you, for a teacher she's pretty nice looking."

"She's pretty," Parker agreed his cheeks tinting from a blush that had nothing to do with their game. "I like her hair."

Booth wondered when he had stopped being fearful as he realized this conversation was flowing without hesitation. "You like long dark hair, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I never really thought about it before. I didn't really notice her hair at first."

"What did you notice?"

"She's a switch hitter."

"Huh?"

"We were playing baseball and the teams weren't even so she offered to play with us. She batted right handed in the first inning but when we were up in the second she switched to left."

"Wow."

"Yeah!" Parker grew excited as he continued. He cocked the ball on his hip, forgetting the game as he explained. "And not only can she hit left, she knocked in a three-run dinger!"

"Nice!" Booth exclaimed to show he was impressed.

"I didn't really notice her hair and stuff until later. I just really liked that she could hit."

Booth grinned as he knocked the ball from Parker's grasp and chucked it at the hoop. "I like strong girls too."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us next week when nothing is as it seems as Sweets' subconscious explores one of America's most notorious crime sprees in The Meanness in the World by NatesMama.<strong>_


	17. The Meanness in the World

Episode 6.5 x 17: The Meanness in the World~ Written by NatesMama and Brainysmrfs

_December 2, 1957 Lincoln, Nebraska_

As clichéd tumbleweeds rolled past the scene indiscriminately, the stillness of the day was disturbed by the crunching of tires on the dusty, graveled path. An unmarked police car rolled to a stop next to the scene, the driver's side door opening with a creak as one well-worn, scuffed boot stepped out and hit the ground with an authoritative thump on the unpaved road. A second boot joined the first in short order, and the assembled group watched as Lancaster County Sheriff Seeley Booth pulled his imposing frame from his sedan and placed his black uniform hat on his head. He checked his weapon as a matter of habit and closed his car door, striding with his customary ease towards the crime scene. As he reached the quiet gathering, his second-in-command, Deputy Vic Anderson stepped forward to fill his boss in on the situation.

"Vic." Booth nodded shortly. "What do we have?"

Vic nodded. He liked that Booth got right to business, without all the usual boring pleasantries. "Sheriff. A couple of kids out joyriding early this morning thought they saw a store mannequin on the side of the road, so they stopped to check it out. Turns out, it wasn't a dummy." He tilted his head towards the man crouched in front of a sheet-covered body. "Dr. Vaziri says it's Bob Colvert."

Booth sucked a breath through his clenched teeth. "Damn. From Crest's?"

"Yup. Shotgun blast to the knee, kill shot to the head. Looks like it was done here."

"Anyone call Gerry Crest? Bob worked the late shift, right?"

"Yup." Booth almost smiled at Vic's predictable response. His underlings were well-trained in crime scene investigation and follow-through. He made very sure of that, no matter that they rarely had to use the skills in this quiet town. "Gerry says Bob was working last night. Earl escorted him out to the station; they said it looks like there was a struggle. No blood. Probably just grabbed him there and went."

Booth nodded absently, watching as Dr. Arastoo Vaziri, the local coroner, directed the ambulance drivers as they lifted Bob Colvert's body and placed it in the waiting van. "Sounds like you have the main points covered. Earl taking care of things at the station?" At Vic's nod, he continued. "You talk to the kids personally?"

"I did. They were upset, obviously. One of them knew Bob; his dad was friends with him. But they really didn't know anything, Booth. Good boys, just out screwing around with one of their dad's cars, had the bad luck to find this mess." Vic looked pained for a minute. "One of them is the kid my girl dates."

"Teddy LaChance?"

The deputy nodded. "You know me; I wouldn't let him near Betsy if he wasn't a good kid. They were just blowing off some steam." He kicked at a loose stone absently. "I had Cam call their parents to come get them."

Booth slapped Vic on the shoulder. "Good man. That's fine." He watched closely as the other officers assembled walked the perimeter, collecting evidence with practiced hands. "Anyone head out to speak to Marylou?"

"Not yet." Vic wiped his brow with a handkerchief and sighed. "You want me to handle it, Booth?"

Shaking his head, Booth started over to speak with the coroner before he left. "Let me talk to Arastoo, and then I'll head over and speak with her. You stay here and make sure everything is covered, and then we'll meet back at the station and start trying to make some sense out of this godforsaken mess."

"Good enough." Vic nodded as a goodbye and moved to supervise the rest of their deputies.

Booth spent some time getting a report from Dr. Vaziri, then left the rest of the details in Vic's capable hands. He sighed heavily as he got into his car, a burning in the pit of his stomach his companion as he headed back into town to let the unsuspecting Marylou Colvert know that she was now a widow.

* * *

><p><em>I saw her standin' on her front lawn just twirlin' her baton…<em>

January 27, 1958

Sheriff Seeley Booth drove through the quiet, early morning of Lincoln, Nebraska in his state-issued police car. Even though it was close to the end of January, the air was dry and mild and Booth felt comfortable enough to forego his jacket that morning as he kissed his wife goodbye before heading in to work. Of course, no normal morning in this town can be had without drama, so it was without surprise that Booth had stopped and scooped the clearly-drunk form of Art MacGregor off the street near the corner of Fifth and Belmont and threw him unceremoniously into the back of his cruiser. As he slammed the back door, he glanced up at a small house in the middle of Belmont and saw the second-oldest Bartlett daughter standing on her porch, throwing what looked to be a stick into the air. She stopped when a beat-up Dodge pulled to the curb, and when the passenger door flew open Booth could see the driver, a troublemaker around town called Charlie Starkweather. Booth watched, a worried scowl on his face, as the young girl ran for the car and jumped in, leaning across the seta to give Charlie a kiss. _Now, that's a recipe for trouble if I've ever seen it._ Booth thought to himself.

Pulling the half-awake Art into the Lancaster County Sheriff's station, Booth ignored the knowing smirk from Camille Saroyan, their dispatcher, as he opened the closest cell and deposited his charge on the unforgiving cot. With barely a grunt from the still-drunk man, Booth slammed the door shut and locked it with a snap. He crossed to his desk and threw himself into his chair, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Rough morning, boss?" Cam asked, fixing a faux sympathetic gaze on her face for Booth's benefit.

Booth scowled. "Don't think for a minute I can't hear that smirk, Camille."

"Oh, come on…it's a little amusing, don't you think? The sheriff, on his early-morning rounds, has to bring in the town drunk…its very cliché." She leaned back in her chair, warming to the topic.

Booth imagined, not for the first time, just walking out of the office and never coming back. "Remind me again why I come into work every day? Because the level of abuse here is definitely making me rethink my career choice…"

"Because you're a dedicated law enforcement officer and if you quit your wife would kill you?"

"Ha ha. No, Bones would not kill me." He leaned back in his chair, mirroring Cam's position unconsciously. "In fact, it would probably make her happy to know I'm not putting myself in harm's way."

Cam nodded sagely. "She sees enough of the evil people can do to each other at work, she would know."

"Yeah."

"And I thought she told you to quit calling her 'Bones'." Cam added with a laugh.

"Naw, she loves it." Booth smiled, thinking about how irritated his wife had been with him when he had first given her the affectionate moniker when they started dating. Temperance had had an attractive figure, but she had been so skinny back then that Booth couldn't resist teasing her in order to goad her into eating, and the nickname, 'Bones', had stuck. It had stuck with Booth, in any case. Temperance was known to still throw a scowl or two at her husband on occasion when the name came out in mixed company.

He turned his attention back to his long-time dispatcher. "Doesn't Paul have a cute nickname for you, Cam?" Referring to her husband, who worked at the local mill.

"Yeah. Meal Ticket." She took in Booth's stricken expression, and shook her head. "Sorry, that was mean." She sighed. "He got laid off again."

"I'm sorry, Cam. You guys going to be okay?"

Sighing, Cam leaned back in her chair again. "Yeah. Probably. It's just…" She closed her eyes for a moment. "Never mind. It's fine. We'll be fine." She finished, determinedly.

Giving her a smile he didn't really feel, Booth nodded. "You will. You're solid."

"Yeah."

Their sudden, uncomfortable silence was interrupted by the appearance of Vic and Earl, who were discussing, quite loudly, the NFL championship game played last month.

"Come on, Berry was the whole reason the Colts won that game, Vic. He was a machine."

"Man, Unitas controlled the game the whole sixty minutes, without him the Giants would have been all over that ball."

The two men moved to their adjoining desks, completely ignorant of the amused looks from Cam and their boss. Earl tossed his lunch down and turned to his friend. "You're just into the Giants because they beat the Browns."

Vic nodded. "You might be right about that. I hate the Browns."

"Alright, you two. Enough." Booth stood and grabbed a pile of paperwork from the filing cabinet behind him. "I have enough work to keep you busy until next season's game, but you need to go get everyone breakfast, first." He pointed a thumb towards the jail cells. "Get something for him, too."

Vic laughed. "Again? Geez, Booth. Art spends so much time in your car lately; he might as well be family by now."

"Hardy har har." Booth groused as he handed his deputy some cash. "Just shut it and go get some food."

B&B

Earl and Vic entered the busy Pearly Gates Diner, expertly avoiding the exiting customers, and headed for the typically-decorated diner counter. They perched side-by-side, next to Wendell Bray, the local librarian, who was having a discussion with the diner's outgoing owner, Angela Montenegro.

The deputies nodded to Wendell and took the small notebook Angela offered them, writing down the order for their group even as they continued to discuss the football game from earlier. Once they were finished, Angela handed the order back to Fischer, the cook, and moved back to speak with the officers.

"Hey, you boys have any idea what happened to Bob Colvert?" She started in her usual blunt way.

The two men exchanged glances before shaking their heads in tandem. "Nothing yet, Angela." Vic spoke for the both of them. "And please, for the love of God, don't bring it up in front of Booth."

"He mad you haven't gotten anywhere?" She asked, moving to grab a coffee pot. She turned over the cups in front of them and gave them each half a cup.

"Thanks, Ang." Earl nodded. "And yeah, you know Booth. He's just trying to get Marylou some justice."

"He will." She nodded decisively. "He always does."

"Obviously not always." Wendell piped in. "It's been over a month, you should at least have a lead by now."

Both deputies glared at the man next to them, joined in their ire by Angela. "Oh, hush up, Wendell. They didn't say they didn't have any leads. Give 'em a break."

"I'm sure you'd be more inclined to criticize if the sheriff wasn't married to your best friend." Wendell's smirk only served to irritate Angela more. She glowered at him even as she turned and collected the bags containing the sheriff's office breakfast.

"And so what if I am? There is such a thing as loyalty, Wendell. You know, loyalty? Surely you have a book in that big 'ol library that can explain the concept to you?" Vic and Earl sniggered as Wendell blushed furiously.

"I just think Marylou deserves some loyalty, too." He snapped, embarrassed.

Angela sobered, and then spoke with a soft voice full of belief. "I agree. And you and I both know that there is no one more capable of finding out who killed Bob than Booth."

Nodding in acceptance, Wendell turned back to his meal, effectively ending the discussion. The two deputies accepted their bags of food and thanked Angela when she waved off their offer to pay, turning to head back to work. As he stepped down from the counter, Vic ran headlong into Clark, Angela's busboy.

"Whoa!" Vic cried, pulling the bag he was carrying closer while simultaneously grabbing Clark to keep him from falling over.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Officer Anderson!" Clark gasped, stepping back nervously as he righted himself.

Smiling, Vic shook his head. "No problem, Clark. Really." He nodded to Earl, who headed out of the diner alone. "But since I have you here…did you get a chance to read that book I gave you?"

Shifting his bus tub from one arm to the other, Clark grinned. "I finished it last night. I liked it very much, sir."

"What did I tell you about that 'sir' stuff?" Vic scoffed. "But I'm glad you enjoyed it. My wife recommended another for you, 'The Edge of Darkness', I have it back at the station if you wanna come pick it up after work?"

"Sure, sure. That would be great." He looked to Angela, who was leaning over the counter. She smiled at Clark and waved her hand dismissively.

"You can head over there on your lunch break, sweetie. You don't have to wait."

"Thanks, Ms. Montenegro."

"Anytime." She waved at Vic, who was heading back out the door. "See you, Vic!"

"Thanks, Angela! Clark, see you later?" He waited while the younger man nodded and then headed back to the office.

Earl waited for Vic before crossing the street to the sheriff's office. As they reached the door, it flew open and Booth pulled them in, forcing them to put down their packages in question.

"Saddle up, men. We just got a call about multiple bodies found over on Belmont." Booth checked his sidearm out of habit and took a piece of paper from Cam, scanning it quickly. "Dammit. How long have they been there?" He said to himself. "Cam, did the local who called tell you anything else?"

"No, just that there appear to be three bodies and one missing child."

Booth's head jerked up. "Missing?"

Cam nodded. "Yes, the older daughter…." She looked at her notes. "Caril. Thirteen years old."

"Shit." Booth grabbed a shotgun off the rack behind him and started out the door. "Come on, you two. Let's get out there."

"You think the girl was kidnapped, boss?" Earl asked, shouldering his own weapon.

Booth shook his head and frowned. "No. No, I do not. Now let's go."

B&B

"Gary, this is a friggin' mess." Booth growled as he paced the shabby living room of the Bartlett home. "These people have been dead for a goddamn week! What the hell happened?"

Gary Christenson, The Police Chief of the Lincoln Police Department, had the sense to look both embarrassed and disgusted at the mishandling of the situation. "Booth, if I had known what was going on…"

"And why didn't you?" Booth demanded.

"No one gave it a second thought!" Gary cried defensively. "The girl said everyone had the flu and we believed her! We had no idea she was being held against her will."

"Because she wasn't." Booth replied.

He scoffed. "You can't know that."

"I do. I saw her, this morning." Booth shook his head as his colleague's eyes widened comically. "I was picking Art off the ground on the corner and saw Caril waiting for him. She was standing out there on the porch when Charlie pulled up. She went willingly. Hell, Gary…she was fucking _skipping_ to the car!"

"Holy shit."

"Yeah. That's what I said." Booth rubbed a hand across the back of his neck in frustration. "I knew something wasn't right, but I never imagined…"

"Booth, how could you have known there were three dead people in the house behind her?" Gary looked out of the corner of his eye, in the direction of the outhouse where the bodies of Caril's mother and baby sister were found. "The boys that came out here said she was acting perfectly normal. It wasn't until her older sister's husband reported the body that we decided to check the perimeter. The brother-in-law had found the father, Marion. One of my newer deputies thought to take a look in the outhouse and found Velda and Betty Jean. Luckily, the kid was smart enough to heave in the bushes and not all over the crime scene."

Sickened, Booth closed his eyes. "How old was Betty Jean?"

"Two. She was two years old, Booth. Dr. Vaziri says she was strangled, and then stabbed."

"Christ Almighty."

"Yeah, He's not in today."

B&B

Booth stood silently next to the Bartlett's car park as Dr. Vaziri and two ambulance drivers directed the body bags to the waiting cars. Every single hardened law enforcement officer in attendance froze in place, nauseated, as the tiny black bag containing Betty Jean Bartlett's remains was gently loaded into the hearse. Arastoo stood behind the closed door for a moment, head bowed in respectful prayer, unaware that the men behind him had all mimicked his stance and added their own words to whomever they personally believed in. When he raised his head, the coroner sought out Booth, wanting to give him as much information as possible to start the investigation.

"Hey, Doc. What do we have?" Booth pulled out his note cards, ready to get down to the business of handing out justice.

"Sheriff." The younger man nodded respectfully. "Three victims. Marion Bartlett, aged 57. Gunshot wound to the head, multiple minor stab wounds to the chest and torso. Velda Bartlett, aged 36. Gunshot wound to the head. Looks like she was beaten about the head, as well. And…" He took a breath, and continued. "Betty Jean Bartlett, aged 2. At least one blow to the head, and stabbed in the throat."

Shaking his head for at least the hundredth time that morning, Booth tapped his pencil on the side of the note card he was using. "How long you think they've been dead?"

"At least a couple of days, judging by decomposition. Maybe a little longer."

"The oldest daughter says she last spoke with her mother a week ago today. After that, she couldn't get a hold of her; Caril said they were all sick."

"I had heard that the local police had visited the home a few times."

"Three times. The first two they barely looked around. Third time was this morning. But that trip was because the sister's husband found the father."

"Amazing." Arastoo looked solemn. "I shall escort the bodies back to the hospital and conduct the autopsies myself. The assistant coroner is away due to a death in the family, so it may take me longer than usual to get you cause of death for all three victims."

"I understand. Just let me know when you have something." Booth shook the other man's hand respectfully. "I'll keep you updated."

"I appreciate that, Sheriff. Until then…" He bowed his head, turned and headed for the ambulance that was waiting for him. Booth watched the cars pull out of the driveway, ignoring the growing crowd of onlookers gathering around the perimeter of the Bartlett yard.

"Vic!" Booth called his deputy over. "Did you get the APB out on Starkweather and Bartlett?"

"Fugate."

"What?"

"Caril. Her last name is Fugate, not Bartlett. Marion was her step-father. Real father passed a while ago."

"Ah. Okay. As long as it's done. You talk to Guy Starkweather?" Booth asked, referring to Charlie's father, one of several who had raised the alarm about the strange events in the Bartlett home over the last week.

"Just heading over there now. Old man hates his kid, that's for sure."

Booth nodded. "Between you and me, that kid is and always has been a bad seed." A strange thought crossed his mind. "Does Doc Vaziri still have the slug he pulled out of Bob Colvert?"

"Yeah, we haven't consolidated the evidence yet because we didn't have a sus-" Vic's eyes widened. "You don't think…"

"Yeah, I do actually. Charlie Starkweather is a punk. And a mean one, at that. I wouldn't put it past him."

Vic rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand straight up. "I'll go talk to his dad, see what he says."

"Good. Let me know what's happening. I'll head back in and call around, see if anyone's heard anything." Booth pulled his hat further down his head and went back for his car. It wasn't even noon and he was already exhausted. Climbing into the driver's seat, he sighed and started the engine. There was a pall hanging over him, and it wasn't just this case. Something even worse was coming, he could feel it. And to his dismay, he didn't have any idea if he was going to be able to stop it before it got too big to stop.

* * *

><p><em>Me and her went for a ride sir, and ten innocent people died…<em>

Booth pulled into his designated parking space in front of the Sheriff's department and glanced at the car parked next to him. A smile crept across his face as he realized that Temperance had stopped by to have lunch and had waited for him to return from the Bartlett crime scene. Practically jumping out of the car, he decided that a little face time with his better half was exactly what he needed after the earlier events of the day.

When he opened the door, the first thing he heard was the sound of laughter. And as he suspected, his wife was sitting close to his dispatcher, and it was obvious from the looks on their faces that they were most likely talking about him.

"Alright, alright…break up the hen party." He crossed to Cam's desk and leaned down to kiss Temperance hello, while simultaneously glaring at Cam. "I'm assuming you didn't just come to chit chat about me behind my back?"

Temperance grinned, looking both contrite and proud. "Actually…no. I stopped by Angela's and got you a burger. We're both going to be working quite a bit for the foreseeable future so I thought we would have lunch together before it got too crazy."

"Thanks." He gratefully took the lunch bag from her and led the way to his inner office. He set the bag of food on his desk and sat down in his chair, while Temperance perched on the stool next to him. He opened the bag and sniffed appreciatively. "Mmmm…dead cow."

Temperance scowled. "I still think you need to eat more chicken. Too much red meat can't be good for you."

"Who says? And anyway, I'm a growing boy. I need the energy." He sighed, setting his burger back down. "Especially after today."

"Cam told me a little." She leaned forward and brushed a hand across his brow. "Was it…bad?"

He nodded solemnly. "However bad you think it was, multiply that times ten."

"I'm sorry." Temperance looked down for a moment. "I wondered because…Dr. Vaziri asked me to assist on the autopsies." Her voice was quiet and almost shy.

"Yeah?" Booth raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm not that surprised. You do know more about human anatomy than most nurses. Reading all those medical texts helped, I'm sure."

She smiled, and when her eyes lit up he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. "Dr. Vaziri is very supportive of my desire to become a doctor."

"He should be, you're a genius. Any med school would be lucky to have you." He reached over and tapped her hand, forcing her to look him in the eye. "You know you can do it. I know you can do it. Obviously Arastoo knows you can do it. So…"

She chuckled. "So, I should do it?"

Booth returned her laugh. "That's my girl. Whatever you set your mind to, you can get it done. You know that."

"You are a very supportive husband." Temperance leaned forward and kissed him softly. "I am lucky to have you."

"You really are." Booth's smiled as she rolled her eyes. "But now…" He looked around, collecting the remains of their meal and shoving the wrappers in the bag. "I need to catch a murderer."

They both stood and held hands, until Booth pulled Temperance into his arms and held her close. "You head straight for the hospital. No stops." He looked down at her as if waiting for an argument.

"I know. I will." She reached up for another quick kiss. "Oh, can you stop by the house and let Daisy out for a few minutes? She'll be going crazy, being alone all night."

Booth sighed and swatted her on the behind as she turned. "I suppose. Even though I can't stand that dog. Her high-pitched yipping drives me insane."

"Oh, be nice. She likes you."

"Of course she does, I feed her."

"Alright, give me another kiss." They bussed quickly, and Booth moved to escort her out of the office and to her car. Temperance waved at Cam as she passed, and they exited the building and stopped next to her car. Unexpectedly, she reached up and grabbed his collar, staring him in the eye. "You be careful, Seeley Booth. Come home to me."

"I will. Promise." He returned her eye contact solemnly, and with one more kiss, he sent her on her way.

B&B

After several phone calls and one tense interview with Charlie's father, Gus, Booth decided to continue smoking the fugitives out by going to their friends. Luckily, Charlie alienated almost everyone he'd met and so his options for hiding out were few and far between. The lone name Gus could come up with was August Meyer, who lived one town over in Bennet, so Booth called Vic back to the office and the two of them took a drive to speak with Meyer right around dinnertime.

As they entered the long, wet driveway, the first sign that something was wrong was the car stuck in the mud. A car that Booth knew belonged to Charles Starkweather. The vehicle was obviously abandoned, but Booth still stopped far enough away to be able to get out of his own vehicle and draw his weapon, signaling to Vic to take the rear approach. Once they cleared the scene, they headed up the drive to the ramshackle farmhouse owned by August Meyer.

Their second clue to trouble made itself known in the form of the front door, which was left hanging open, swinging in the slight breeze. The sick feeling Booth had been entertaining since finding Charlie's car intensified as they exited the car once again with guns raised, passing silent signals back and forth as they approached the weathered porch. Booth stepped gingerly on the first step, wincing as it creaked beneath his weight. Vic followed; swinging to Booth's left as they moved stealthily to the open door. As if choreographed, both men peeked into the house at the same time and their eyes landed on the reason for the deathly quiet simultaneously.

"Son of a bitch." Booth breathed. He nodded to his deputy. "Go check the back."

Vic returned the nod and moved to secure the rear of the house. Booth waited until he was out of sight, and then slowly slid into the opening the swinging door afforded. He visually checked the rooms as he crouched down to inspect the sprawled body of who he could only assume was August Meyer. A creak from the right had him pointing his weapon before recognizing Vic entering the room from a back entrance.

"It's clear, Booth. Staircase to the second floor is torn up, no way to get up there without a ladder." He glanced down at the body, lying on a worn rug and a large blood pool. "There's a car out back, looks like it was gone through. Probably doesn't run, that's why they didn't take it."

Booth ran a hand over his face in frustration. "Where the hell did they go without a vehicle?"

While Vic called the office and reported the scene to Cam, Booth walked down the road to inspect the abandoned car. Potato chip bags and candy wrappers littered the front seat, as well as the baton Booth had seen Caril twirling earlier that day, the sheer innocence of the toy making his gut clench painfully. When he pushed the front seat forward, he found a balled-up paper bag shoved under the mechanism, recognizing it immediately as he pulled it out. It was a carry-out bag from Crest's Service Station. Inside was a handful of random coins and a dollar bill. Shaking his head, Booth set the bag aside and turned to wait for the cavalry.

B&B

Booth found himself surrounded by deputies, a coroner and curious onlookers for the second time that day and frankly, he was getting sick of it. As they waited for the scene to be cleared, he gave Earl, Vic and Tony Bonafascio the rundown of what he had found in the car and what it meant. Tony, one of their newer deputies, got the connection between the change in the paper bag from Crest's and Charlie Starkweather long before the more seasoned cops did.

"Bob Colvert was murdered for a handful of change." Tony pointed out. "And he was killed with a shotgun, same as the Bartletts and Mr. Meyer."

"Well, in this county everyone has a shotgun." Vic replied. "That ain't nothing special."

Booth nodded. "Maybe, but they don't all have a bag of change from Crest's in their backseat."

With a growing dread, the four men considered the evidence in front of them and all came to the same conclusion. They were dealing with a killing spree, one that had started over a month previous. And now that they knew exactly who was responsible, the information only made the situation worse.

Charlie Starkweather, eighteen years-old, was well known in Lincoln. A strange kid with thick glasses, an awkward gait caused by a birth defect and a severe inferiority complex, Charlie wasn't so much a troublemaker as he was a misanthrope. He'd dropped out of high school his senior year, and had worked briefly with a newspaper warehouse so he could be closer to Caril Ann Fugate, his thirteen year-old girlfriend. Recently hired by the local garbage collection company, Charlie had managed to stay out of real legal trouble, but was well known in town for picking fights and minor petty theft, nothing that would really stick. The idea that he had escalated from small-time hood to multiple murders made Booth especially nervous. It was more than apparent that the kid had decided he had nothing left to lose.

And that made him more dangerous than anything they had ever had to deal with.

* * *

><p>As Lance Sweets stood anxiously outside the sheriff's office, he stamped out one cigarette and quickly lit another, inhaling slowly and going over in his mind exactly what he would ask the sheriff when he finally appeared. As a cub reporter with the Omaha World-Herald, Lance was desperate to get a comment, any comment, from Sheriff Booth regarding the recent murders. His editor, Ms. Julian, had made it quite clear that if he didn't come back with a front-page worthy story, he might as well not come back at all.<p>

Booth pulled into his parking spot in front of the office and inwardly groaned when he saw the slight, chain-smoking reporter waiting for him at the curb. He slowly got out of his cruiser and put on his hat, pulling the brim down low in hopes that it would hide his eyes.

Lance quickly dropped his cigarette and pulled out his notebook and rushed over to Booth, "Sheriff, I'm Lance Sweets with the Omaha World- Herald and-"

Booth held up his hand, "I'm gonna have to stop you right there. I have no comment."

"You didn't even give me a chance to ask a question."

"That's because regardless of the question, I have no comment."

Lance glanced down at his notebook and then back up at the opposing man in front of him, "I just need something, sir. Is there anything at all you can tell me?"

There was something about the young man that made Booth take pity on him. He placed a hand on Lance's shoulder and smiled, "The Pearly Gates Diner has the best pie in town and Claudia Turner has a boarding house across town if you're looking for a place to stay while you're here."

"Thanks but…" Lance sighed as he habitually reached inside his jacket and took out a cigarette.

Booth watched as he lit the cigarette and shook his head, "Those things will kill ya, kid."

"I'm pretty sure my editor will kill me before these things do." Lance muttered as he walked away, headed toward the diner.

B&B

Booth stood in front of what he was quickly coming to refer to as his posse. The twenty men from the community who had volunteered to canvas the area for any sign of Starkweather, comprised of mostly former military and ex-cops, as well as the local police and Booth's own deputies. He had considered simply sticking with law enforcement only, but the sheer number of tips that had been coming in from the news reports and APB were overwhelming him and his men, and they knew they could cover more ground this way.

An impatient voice hollered from the back of the room. "C'mon, Booth…let's get this show on the road already. Bruce is sittin' in my truck lookin' to hunt!"

Amid the nervous laughter, Booth rolled his eyes at the culprit. "Calm down, Rick. We'll get you and your mutt on the road here in a few." He raised his hand to quiet the random chatter. "Listen up, men. You've got the pictures of who we're looking for. You know they're armed. I know that some of you are, too…" He looked into a few eyes, conveying his message of restraint silently. "I need you all to canvas the areas we gave you, no more. The idea is to be as organized as possible so they don't get by us."

"How do you know they're even in the area, Booth?"

Another voice called out. "Cause that boy is stupid as the day is long, Dale!" Several heads nodded in agreement.

"Anyway…we have state police watching the roads out of Lincoln. We know they're here in the area." Booth stopped again, taking in the group as a whole. "Listen, I need this by the book, completely. I don't want any innocent civilians hurt; I don't want any of you hurt, just…be careful and watch your asses."

The group nodded as one, and seemingly satisfied with their response, Booth sent them out to start their search. After the last man exited the office, Booth moved to head for his office to make a quick call to Vaziri before he took his own section of town to search. But before he could get one number dialed, Cam came rushing into the room, waving a note.

"Booth! We got a tip and I think it's a good one." She handed him the paper, watching closely as he scanned it quickly.

"They were spotted right down the damn road from Meyer's farm! What the hell are they doing?" Booth ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "What does this say? They saw them parked in another car?"

"Yes, there is an abandoned storm shelter right off the path, the caller said she saw them, or two people she thought were them, standing next to a black Bel Air right by the shelter."

"Alright, I'm heading out there now. Call Earl and have him meet me, but I'm sure they're long gone by now." Booth grabbed his hat and pulled his shotgun off the rack behind him.

"You need all that firepower if they're long gone, boss?" Cam raised an eyebrow as Booth added another gun to the arsenal already on his person.

He shouldered the shotgun and started for the door with a dark expression. "You never know, Camille…you just never know."

B&B

"Hey sweetie, what can I get you?" Angela asked Lance as he took a seat at the counter of her diner.

"Coffee, please." He dropped his notebook down in front of him and rolled his eyes. The pages were blank and he feared that if he couldn't get anyone to talk to him about the case, his future was going to be just as blank.

Angela set the coffee down in front of him and slid an ashtray toward him as he lit a cigarette. "No offense babe, but you look like hell."

"Gee thanks." He sighed, "I was sent here to report on the murders and I can't get anyone to talk to me about what's going on. My boss isn't exactly the most understanding woman in the world."

She leaned toward him and dropped her voice, "Sit tight. Once Booth and his boys get a handle on this craziness, someone will talk to you."

"You think?" Lance took a sip of his coffee and tapped his cigarette into the ashtray.

"Oh yeah," she looked around to make sure no one could hear her, "I think right now, they're all a little embarrassed that things have gone this far. Especially the sheriff."

Lance sighed, "I'm gonna get fired. I just know it."

"Hang in there. Let Seeley see that you're sincere, that you just want to report the truth – he'll respect that."

"How well do you know him?"

"Pretty damn well, actually. His wife, Temperance, is my closest friend. And not that he actually told me this but I can tell that this case has gotten under his skin more than any other. He prides himself on being the kind of man who can take care of just about anything. And he usually does. Seeley Booth is a good man."

Lance jotted a few notes down and shook his head, "I should have finished my psychology degree like my mother wanted me to instead of dropping out to be a reporter. I just…I thought I could help people by sharing the truth with them but so far I…" He trailed of in defeat.

"Hey, buck up." Angela grabbed a piece of pie from behind the counter and placed it in front of him. "It's on the house."

He smiled, "The sheriff did tell me you had the best pie in town."

Angela tapped Lance on the nose, "See, I told you he was a good man."

* * *

><p><em>From the town of Lincoln Nebraska with a sawed-off .410 on my lap…<em>

Booth approached the turn-off where he knew the old storm shelter to be with caution. Not that he expected Starkweather to be there, because he didn't. But because his gut was telling him that whatever he was about to find here was not good.

He stopped his cruiser with the headlights pointed directly at the opening to the shelter. Decades old, the weathered building looked like it would barely hold up through a light rain, let alone a tornado. Once he'd exited his car, he flipped on his heavy flashlight and held his service revolver in the other. As he stepped towards the door, the sound of crunching gravel drew his attention and he whipped around in time to see Earl pulling in. The deputy jumped out of his own cruiser and joined his boss, both holding their flashlights so the beams bounced off the split, worn wood of the storm shelter.

"You feel that, Booth? Something's off about this."

"Yeah." He looked around, not nervously…but apprehensive. "Okay, you open I'll cover. Count of three."

In the end, the counting became unnecessary as a stiff wind blew through and the shelter door swung open on its own, revealing, to their shared horror, a pair of bare, lifeless legs.

Earl moved quickly to clear the shelter of danger while Booth covered him, switching roles without thought. Hearing his deputy's curse, Booth leaned in and saw the source of Earl's upset. There, thrown into the shelter as if they were nothing but discarded rag dolls, were the bodies of two teenagers.

"Owners of the car?" Earl asked, looking both pale and green at the same time.

Booth nodded sickly. "Probably. Let's get Arastoo out here, get the ID's. We'll know what kind of car we're looking for exactly. Then, maybe, we can catch this son of a bitch."

An hour later, Booth watched from his perch on the hood of his car as Dr. Vaziri and Temperance worked to get the victim's bodies from the shelter with as much care as possible. When the coroner had arrived with Booth's wife in tow, the sheriff had been less than happy, but with the scene secure and the need for all hands on deck in the wake of the sudden influx of bodies, he could hardly put up much of a fuss. In the end, he was just grateful to be able to see her for a few extra minutes as he contemplated just what in the hell Charlie Starkweather was doing and where he might head next.

Vic showed up at the scene to update Booth on the search, which had so far proved absolutely fruitless. "We figure he's gone to ground somewhere. Let's hope he didn't get smarter and leave the state."

"Yeah." Booth continued to watch the coroner and his own wife work to clear the scene. "I'm thinking we might want to talk to the governor about calling in the Guard if we can't get him by tomorrow night."

"Really?" Vic was shocked. As a former Army man, Booth was often reticent about calling in reinforcements until absolutely necessary.

"Yep. I was going to call Wyatt and put out some feelers about maybe having him send us a few men." He slid off the hood and dusted off his slacks. "We might need to start a house-to-house search."

Rubbing the stubble that had collected on his face over the day, Vic shook his head in frustration. "This kid is barely got a hair on his balls and he's draggin' around a little girl. Why the hell can't we find them?"

"God protects the young and the stupid? I don't know, Vic. But we will find them, that's a fact." Booth fixed a determined look on his face, walked around the area to hand out more orders to his men, said a quick goodbye to his wife, and headed back to the office to make his phone calls.

B&B

"Booth, you know I'd be happy to help, I just need the governor to give me a ring." Gordon Wyatt, the Adjutant General of the Nebraska National Guard and longtime friend of the sheriff, sounded apologetic but resolved. "I appreciate the mess you have going on there, I do. But unless Jack sends us out…"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I put a call in to the governor earlier. And believe me, it was not one of my finer moments."

"Hey, everyone needs help once in awhile. Especially when you're looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Still…we should have this kid by now. He's a punk. And a stupid one, at that." Booth groaned into the reciever. "I'm being outsmarted by an idiot."

Wyatt grinned to himself. "But you know the idiots are the hardest to catch. There's a reason why they call it 'dumb luck'."

"I'm beginning to get that." Booth caught Cam's wave goodbye as she walked by the door on her way out. "Look, Wyatt…I need to get going. I have a posse out there I need to check on."

They ended their phone call with friendly ribbing and promises to get together the next time Wyatt and his wife were in town, and after hanging up, Booth headed into the main office, where several of the men who had been out searching earlier were hanging out. Most drank coffee and munched on donuts from the diner, brought over earlier by Angela as a 'donation to the brave men doing all the work'.

"Can I get everyone's attention?" Booth clapped his hands together loudly, trying to pull the group together so he could address them as one. "Hey, Teddy…Dale, chop chop! Get over here."

The stragglers finished their conversations and moved to gather around Booth in a loose semi-circle. He looked around at each man, unhappy with the update he had to give them. With a frown, he began to speak. "As I'm sure you're all aware, two more people were killed this afternoon, somewhere between here and Bennet. Seventeen year-old Robert Jensen and sixteen year-old Carol King. Both shot with the same weapon that killed the Bartlett family and August Meyer." He skipped over the savage desecration of the King girl's body, both out of respect for her and out of simple self-preservation. The sight of the once-pretty girl with multiple stab wounds all over the lower half of her body was still haunting him. "And, you should know that we've determined that same weapon was also used to kill Bob Colvert."

The quiet murmurs suddenly became indignant shouts as many of the assembled were friends with Bob. Booth knew that he might be setting them up to be out for blood, but after being turned down for Guard reinforcements by Governor Hodgins, he was feeling desperate enough to try anything.

"What do you need from us, Sheriff? Do we expand the search? Switch areas, change it up?" Alan Davies, a farmer and former Marine from nearby Denton, asked from the back of the room.

In answer, Booth pulled out a map of Lancaster County. He had drawn up sections and assigned the men, in pairs, to the section they were most familiar with. "We're going to pair you off, each according to proximity to your own homes. I need you to be able to look in alleys no one else would check, abandoned areas where fugitives could hide out, and places someone unfamiliar with the area would never think to look. We're going to use your strengths, and we're going to catch this bastard."

The group moved to get their assignments, most grabbing one more donut before heading back out to search. Booth watched as they all shuffled out, more determined than ever, and then crossed to his office and started going over the reports from the coroner, the tips from concerned citizens, and the facts of the cases, trying to find some hint or clue as to what Charlie was up to. It was obvious that he aspired to something better than the life he was living and that instead of working for it he was just going to take it. At each crime scene, he had stolen something valuable. Marion Bartlett's coin collection, a set of expensive pens from the Meyer home, and all the jewelry and cash Jensen and King had on them were all unaccounted for, and the single thought that Booth could not let go if was that those small-time trophies were not going to be enough for someone like Charlie. He was going to escalate to something more dangerous and lucrative…and Booth had no idea where he was or when he was going to strike next.

And that was the thought that was going to keep him up and working for the remainder of the night.

* * *

><p><em>I can't say that I'm sorry for the things that we done…<br>At least for a little while sir, me and her we had us some fun…_

When the call came through Cam's switchboard at a little after 6 AM, Booth had to squelch the urge to punch a hole through the wall as he chugged the rest of his cold coffee and headed out the door with an equally exhausted Vic hot on his heels. The drive to the east end of town, where the most expensive homes in Lincoln were situated together in neat rows, was quick and painless and deadly silent. Both knew what they were walking into, but the need to delay reality as long as possible, even for a seven minute ride across town, was enough to keep the conversation at bay.

They pulled into the driveway of the large home of C. Lauer Ward, president of Capital Bridge and Capital Steel and a close friend of the governor right behind Earl's cruiser, watching as he exited the driver's side and Tony jumped out the other. A figure ran towards them from the house, and all four lawmen reached for their weapons before realizing that the harried man waving his arms in their direction was Jim Austin, the local milkman, who had made the call to the sheriff.

"They're all dead! Oh my God…" He collapsed to his knees in front of Earl, who turned to look helplessly at Booth as he ran up the driveway to meet them.

Booth stepped around Earl and dropped down to take Jim's arm and pull him back up. "Jimmy…hey, what happened, can you tell me?" He used the most soothing voice he could, even as he frantically pointed towards the house, gesturing the deputies to head in and clear the scene.

"Seel?" The glazed look in the other man's eyes shocked Booth. Jim Austin was a former soldier, he had seen death and destruction up close, so if whatever was in that house had turned him to stone, Booth knew it had to be even worse than he was imagining.

"Alright, Jimmy…let's get you in the car here." Booth led his old friend to his cruiser, opening the door with one hand while setting him down on the seat with the other. He watched, fascinated, as the man in front of him got himself together with a deep breath and a nod to himself, and then looked up at Booth with a steady stare.

"Lil's dead." He took a shuddering breath. "The…their maid. I, uh, I knew her. She always met me at the back door to get the milk and order for the next day."

"And she wasn't there this morning."

"No." He shook his head, still a little dazed. "I mean, sometimes she would leave a note if she wasn't going to be there, but that hasn't happened in years. Years, Seel. Lil is as reliable as the sunrise." His voice broke on the last word and he cleared his throat in embarrassment. "But today…no Lil, no note. And the back door was open."

"Screen door, too?" Booth asked.

"There isn't a screen on that door. It was ajar, open just enough to make my blood run cold." A shadow passed over his face for a moment. "Blood…there was blood. I could see it on the floor. At first, I thought she had an accident and maybe Mrs. Ward didn't know. But she was just lying there…covered in blood. I knew it wasn't an accident."

"That's when you checked the rest of the house?"

He nodded again. "That's when I found the rest of them. M-Mister Ward was downstairs, in the dining room. And Mrs. Ward…she-"

"Booth!" Both heads turned towards Vic's cry. "Boss, you gotta get in here. We need to call it in…now."

Booth leaned down into Jim's face, inspecting him closely. Satisfied that some of the color had come back into his face, he patted his shoulder. "Stay here, Jimmy. We'll be back." He looked to his deputy. "Vic, stay out here with Jimmy…just in case."

Looking around nervously, Jim shook his head. "You don't think they're still-"

"No." Booth's answer was emphatic. "No, I really don't. They're long gone. But I would rather be safe than sorry." He ducked his head to look his friend in the eye again. "Alright?"

"Yeah." Jim nodded furiously, relived now that he knew he wasn't going to be left alone. "Thanks, Seel."

"You bet." Booth headed towards the back entrance of the house, where Jimmy had indicated he discovered the maid. Once inside, he found Earl standing over the blood-soaked body of a woman dressed in a traditional maid's uniform.

"What do we have, Earl?"

"Lillian Fencl. The Wards' maid." He looked nauseous. "Lots of stab wounds, from what I can see."

"Jesus." Booth breathed. "What about the Wards?"

"He's in the dining room, she's upstairs in the bedroom." He took a breath. "Boss, they even killed one of the dogs."

"Tony up there?"

"Yeah, he corralled the second dog and put her in a spare bedroom. He's taking notes now." Earl pointed to the second set of doors off the kitchen. "Mr. Ward is right through there."

Stepping over the expansive pool of blood, Booth suppressed a shudder. The weight of this case was beginning to pull him down, he could feel it tugging insistently on his ankle and he needed to find a way to anchor himself and focus. Unfortunately, as he stood over the battered body of a man who, by all accounts, never hurt another soul, he couldn't find that resolve just yet, even though he knew he was under a quickly-dwindling deadline. And that time was most definitely running out.

B&B

_January 29, 1958_

As the sun came up over the horizon, brightening a day that had no business being bright, Booth thought back to what made him choose law enforcement as a career. He wasn't normally an introspective man; he left the analyzing to his wife for the most part because her logical view of the world centered him like nothing else. But today, in the wake of one of the more horrific failures of his life he decided he owed it to himself to think about what happened in the past to give some perspective to what might happen in the future. Fighting in a war, taking lives, believing that what you've dedicated your life to doing is not only noble but true and right can take a hit when you see the lives of the truly innocent being thrown away, for what? Fifty dollars, a few trinkets and a general contempt for anyone else but yourself? Booth knew, deep down, that he was not at fault for Charlie Starkweather and his actions. But it's difficult to believe that when you see the body of a child stuffed like garbage into a box in an outhouse. In his head, he could hear Temperance berating him for his thoughts, and that brought a slight smile to his face as his car stopped in front of the sheriff's office and he killed the engine.

The crowd gathered didn't surprise him, and he did his best to be polite as concerned citizens and nosy reporters pushed forward, trying to get either reassurance or a statement from their stoic sheriff. Booth slid through the wall of humanity and quickly entered the building, accepting Cam's worried expression with a grimace.

"How long have they been out there?" He asked as he grabbed yet another cup of coffee.

"They were there when I arrived this morning." She pointed to the young reporter Booth had run into the day before. "That kid there, he's a persistent one."

"Tell me about it." Booth groaned as he settled into the chair next to Cam. "The guys are all still out at the Ward place, they-" He was stopped mid-sentence as the switchboard lit up, indicating that Booth's private line in his office was receiving a call. He nodded and stood. "I'll take that in there."

Cam watched as he crossed the room, his steps heavy and his shoulders slumped. She absently answered the call, eyes widening when she realized who the caller was. "Boss? It's the governor."

Booth heard Cam's warning, but he was beyond caring at this point. He grabbed the phone and hit the button, putting the call through. "Governor Hodgins, sir."

"Sheriff Booth? Is it true?" Booth noted with surprise that the man didn't sound angry, he sounded upset.

"Yes, sir. C. Lauer Ward, his wife, Clara and their maid Lillian Fencl were found dead this morning in the Ward home. We are sure that it was Starkweather and Fugate."

"Dammit." The soft curse only served to prove to Booth that Ward was more than just an acquaintance to the man who ran the state of Nebraska. "How bad?"

"They're all dead. It's bad enough."

"Right." The governor sighed. "Look, Booth…I was wrong about the Guard. I should have sent them when you asked, but I am correcting that mistake as we speak. They're on their way and they should be there within the hour."

"I appreciate that, sir."

"Well, thanks for not reminding me that it's a little like closing the barn door after the horse has already run off." Hodgins paused, and Booth could practically hear him thinking. "Look, I don't like bringing this up, but I've heard rumors…you know, with how slippery this kid is, that maybe he's been getting some help from someone higher up…"

"What?" Booth gasped. "You think there's some sort of conspiracy with the cops to let Starkweather roam free, killing people at will? Are you crazy?" Booth fought the urge to curse, assuming that calling the governor crazy was probably bad enough.

"Alright, alright…like I said, just a rumor. I had to ask."

"No, you really didn't."

There was an uncomfortable silence as both men contemplated apologizing. When the moment seemed to pass, Hodgins continued. "In any case, the cavalry is on its way. They know to report to you. Do what you need to do to bring that son of a bitch in."

"Thank you, sir. This is about to end, believe me. One way or the other." Booth's resolve was enough to calm him for the time being.

"Alright, Sheriff. Keep me updated."

"Yes, sir." They rung off and Booth took a few minutes to come up with a game plan before the troops invaded his little town. He knew the residents would be concerned…even more than they already were, but when it came to safety versus sanity, he always chose safety. For all the good it had done him up until now.

* * *

><p><em>Sheriff, when the man pulls that switch, sir and snaps my poor neck back…<br>You make sure my pretty baby is sittin' right there on my lap._

After a relatively small but well-organized invasion by the Nebraska National Guard, Booth convened with Wyatt as to the disposition of his men, as well as Booth's own deputies, and they decided that the original idea of a house-to-house search was the only way they were going to flush Charlie and Caril out. With Earl and Tony's help, Wyatt managed to divide his men by block and street, and sent them off to begin pick Lincoln apart home by home. When the search was underway, Booth found himself feeling restless, and the pull of the investigation was too much to ignore, so he began a search of his own. He started on the main street through town, winding his way through the city he had sworn to protect and grown to love, looking for any inspiration as to where the fugitives had scurried off to after leaving the Ward residence. It suddenly occurred to Booth as he passed the Bartlett house where this all began, for a third time, that each murder scene followed a pattern. He mentally ticked off each location, and with a groan he realized that Charlie and Caril had been driving in circles. The Bartlett house, to the Meyer house, to the shelter, to the Ward's….one, giant geographic circle. Inspired, Booth turned his car around and headed out of town, towards the opposite end of the county from where August Meyer had lived. As he crossed the city limits, he simultaneously prayed for a break in the case, and hoped not to stumble across another crime scene. Not ten minutes into his drive, a car on the side of the road caught his attention and made every single warning bell in his head light up like the Fourth of July.

He pulled up close to the black Packard slowly; realization dawning that he was now staring directly at the very car that was stolen from the Ward home. Cautiously, he pulled his large frame out of the vehicle and drew his weapon. Walking behind the police cruiser, he couldn't see anyone in the car, but he stepped lightly in any case, coming up on the passenger side door. With a quick move and a flick of his wrist, he had the door open and immediately knew that the car was empty. Sighing, he headed over to his cruiser to call it in. As he passed the front of the Packard, he brushed the hood and realized with a start that it was still slightly warm. His head jerked up, eyes squinting as he looked into the distance down the road and with a muttered curse he ran to his car and slammed it into drive, stomping the accelerator down to the floor and spraying the Packard with gravel as he peeled out.

Booth's knuckles were stark white against the black of his steering wheel as his steel gaze never wavered from the road in front of him. Less than two minutes after finding the Wards' car on the side of the road, he saw a cloud of dust ahead and realized that the chase was on. He stared, transfixed, as the car in front of him was lurching down the road in a jerky, start-and-stop motion. Suddenly, the car veered to the side of the road and the back door flew open.

In shock he watched as a young girl stumbled from the vehicle and started screaming as she ran directly for Booth's car. "Help me! Help me! He's kidnapped me! Help!"

Slamming on the breaks, Booth jumped out of the cruiser, grabbed Caril by the arm and threw her at the back door. "Get in there and get down!" She froze for a moment before doing what she was told.

Booth started walking towards the obviously stalled car, gun drawn and muscles bunched and tight in expectation. He looked behind him as he walked, checking to make sure that Caril was still in the car and not either running the other way or coming up behind him with a shotgun.

"Charlie!" Booth called. "Come on, Charlie! It's over, get out here with your hands up!" There was no response from the car other than the grinding of the ignition as Charlie tried desperately to restart the car. "You flooded it, Charlie! Come on, get out now and no one else gets hurt!"

The standoff lasted for another ten minutes, alternating between Booth yelling for Charlie to come out and Charlie continually trying to start the car with no success. Finally, after Booth was able to step back and use his radio to call in to the station, the door to the other car finally creaked open. With a start, Booth realized that Charlie was reaching into his back pocket as he exited the vehicle.

"Charlie…" Booth yelled a warning. "Get your hands up, kid. Don't do it."

Charlie just shook his head and started to pull something out from behind his back. Without a second thought, Booth aimed and fired, ignoring the screams of the girl behind him as they melded with the sirens coming up in the distance.

* * *

><p><em>They wanted to know why I did what I did…Well sir, I guess there's just a meanness in this world…<em>

"This was the best possible outcome, Seeley. You know that." Temperance sat next to her husband in the sterile hospital waiting room, trying to bring him back from whatever dark place he was determined to set himself in.

He nodded, almost able to convince her that he was telling her the truth. "I know. And it's not that I had to shoot him." At her look, he shook his head. "No, it had to be done. I know that. I just wish…" He sighed. "All those people, Bones. Needlessly gone. That poor little baby. She never had a chance to even live. Sometimes I just-"

She placed a cool hand along the back of his neck and rubbed softly. "You lose your faith. I understand."

He looked up at her, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and too much caffeine. "Do you?" He took in her measured, calm look and nodded. "Yeah, you really do."

She smiled. "You know we have this same conversation every time something like this happens."

"Bones, nothing like this has ever happened before." A ghost of a smile crossed his face before he sobered again, seeing the doctor heading toward them. He stood and pulled Temperance up with him as they met Dr. Goodman next to the doorway.

"Sheriff. Mrs. Booth." Goodman nodded at them both as he looked around the waiting room. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "That was one hell of a shot, Seeley. He's going to be just fine, for what that's worth. Through and through, right in the upper arm. We don't even have to keep him here; you can take him to the jail."

"Yeah?" Booth looked so relieved; Temperance broke her own rule and kissed him soundly in full view of his deputies. "Bones!" He smiled despite his protest, and she took that as her cue.

"You'll be alright, then? We'll talk at home?" She ran her hand over his shoulder in comfort.

"Yeah. I won't be late." He winked and then leaned over and kissed her this time. "I'm exhausted."

"I'll bet you are." She reached up and touched his face once more, and then headed down the hallway to the lower level of the hospital.

Booth watched his wife walk away before turning to Tony and Vic, who had moved closer to hear Dr. Goodman's report on Charlie's condition.

"Hey Boss." Vic nodded. "Caril's locked up tight, talking to anyone who'll listen. Says Charlie kidnapped her."

"Yeah, she told me the same thing." Booth rubbed a hand across his tired face. "We figure out who the body in the car was?"

"Yeah, Merle Collison, a traveling salesman from Montana." Tony shook his head. "Just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"What was wrong with his car?" Booth wanted to know why Charlie had such a hard time getting away.

Vic laughed mirthlessly. "Stupid son of a bitch couldn't figure out how to release the emergency break. And since he'd already killed Collison, he couldn't ask him." At Booth's look, he shook his head. "Sorry, Booth. It's just…all that stupid luck he had the last two days, and he gets caught because of a sheriff with a great hunch and a general lack of vehicle know-how."

That last statement struck Booth's tired brain so funny that he couldn't stifle a snort that was echoed by Tony, and soon all three officers were howling with laughter, holding each other up in the hallway of the hospital as twenty onlookers stared at them as if they had lost their minds.

After they got control of themselves, Booth sent the two deputies in to keep an eye on Charlie, who was handcuffed to a bed, while he spoke with Wyatt and the rest of the assembled law enforcement, bringing them up to speed on Charlie's capture and shooting. Once he was done, he could barely keep his eyes open, but he knew he had one more task to perform before he kept that date he had with his pillow at home.

"Hey kid, you said you work for the World-Herald?"

Sweets looked up from his intense concentration on his lunch and his eyes widened at the sight of the Lancaster County sheriff gesturing to the chair across from him at the corner table at the diner.

"Uh…yeah. Well, at least for now anyway."

Booth smiled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest in amusement at the mock-defeated look on the kid's face. "Well, would you get to keep your job if you got an exclusive from the lead cop on the case?"

"Sweets? Hey, Sweets?"

"Sweets?"

Sweets tried to focus on what Booth was saying, shaking his head in confusion as he realized that the voice that was speaking to him wasn't the one he expected. He opened his eyes and raised his head off his desk to find himself looking into the worried eyes of Dr. Temperance Brennan.

"Dr. Sweets? Are you alright? It was very difficult to rouse you."

Over her shoulder, Booth was smirking as he looked over Sweets' desk. "Were you having a bad dream, Sweets? Maybe you shouldn't be reading about…" He glanced at the case file next to where Sweets' head was laying. "the Starkweather case? Whoa, that's an oldie."

"Charles Starkweather? The spree killer who murdered eleven people in Nebraska in 1958?" Brennan asked, grabbing the file from Booth.

"Yes." Sweets replied, taking the folder and placing it back with his paperwork. "I am conducting a lecture next month at Quantico about the psychological insights into spree killers, and the Starkweather case has always fascinated me. I guess I fell asleep while I was reading."

"And listening to Springsteen." Booth held up the CD cover for Nebraska. "Good choice. Kinda bleak, though."

"It adds the appropriate mood music to the literature, that's true." Sweets shook his head one more time and stood up. "And anyway, why are you two here? Did we have an appointment?"

"Nope. A case. And we need you to aim your shrink ray at the suspect we're about to bring in. You up for that?" Booth clapped his hands together and smiled. "Come on, Bones! Sweets! Let's go catch us a bad guy."

Booth started out of the office, Brennan right on his heels. Sweets followed more slowly, a smile crossing his face as he watched the partners practically run for the elevator.

"Yeah." Sweets nodded. "Let's go catch us a bad guy."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Join us next week when Booth and Brennan explore the possibility of redemption and forgiveness in The Sheep in Wolf's Clothing by Rynogeny.<strong>_

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: This episode was inspired by the Bruce Springsteen songalbum, Nebraska…which in turn was inspired by the real-life Starkweather case. Where possible, the episode follows the case quite closely, although obviously the characters from Bones are inserted where they seemed to fit best. The victims, killers and crime scenes are as described in court documents, newspaper accounts, and online reviews of the actual case, although we had to take some creative liberties with the timeline and resolution in order for it to work. This episode not intended to be a primer for the case; it is only used as jumping-off point._


	18. The Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

Bones Season 6.5 x 18: The Sheep in Wolf's Clothing ~ Written by Rynogeny

Morning lit the area as Booth opened the door to the diner, his gaze drawn immediately to his partner. Her back was to him and he slowed. She might be an expert on bones, but he was an expert on her and the way she was sitting – unnaturally stiffly, hands in her lap, coffee apparently untouched in front of her - said something was wrong.

It didn't take much thought to guess where the problem was. They'd not yet discussed moving in together, despite the fact that they spent more nights together than apart, but she'd stayed in her apartment the night before without him because Max was in town and she wanted to spend time with him.

Max. Tense Brennan. It didn't take a genius to work that one out. He walked up behind her, touched her shoulder as he moved past to take the seat opposite her. "Morning, Bones." He studied her, noted the tension was around her eyes as well, and skipped all the other pleasantries. "What's up?"

She raised her hands to the table, but just left them there, appearing to struggle for a moment for a response. "Last night was very awkward. My father is acting peculiar, even for him." She looked at him, her gaze troubled. "I'm concerned that he's engaging in illegal activities."

Not a surprise, really, and yet it was. As far as Booth knew, Max had hovered right around that line for several years, but hadn't stepped over it, for his kids' sake. "What happened?"

She'd relaxed enough to sip her coffee. "He's being very secretive. He'd been staying with Russ, and, we expected him to be there through the end of the month at the least – Russ and Amy are taking the girls to Florida, and Dad was going to go with them. But two days ago, he came back from an appointment – he wouldn't say where – and told Russ he needed to come up here. And now, he's doing the same thing here – he says he has appointments today, but won't say where or with whom."

Booth frowned. "So, he significantly changed his plans and is in town for some specific reason but won't say what?"

"Yes." She hesitated. "I'm not good with reading emotions, but he feels false to me, like he's pretending everything is the same as it has been. He tried to tell me that the appointment was nothing major and he was just using it as an excuse to see me, but Russ told me that Dad had really been anticipating the trip to Florida."

The waitress sat a cup of coffee down in front of him, and Booth nodded his thanks, his mind turning over what Brennan had said. There might be something harmless about Max's activities, but he understood why she was worried.

"There might be perfectly legitimate explanations, Bones. He told me once that while he wasn't always exactly on the right side of the law after your mom was killed, he never joined forces with anyone else afterward. He blamed their involvement with that gang for her death."

"He was right," she said tartly. Then she sighed, and her expression was vulnerable. "So you're saying that whatever is going on, he's not involved in criminal activity with someone else. Of course, he wasn't working with anyone else when he killed Kirby."

"Kirby was threatening you," Booth said, suddenly uneasy. Was Max in DC because he believed Brennan was in danger? But he would have told Booth that…wouldn't he?

"Bones, your dad has been making choices for years now that allow him to stay in your and Russ's lives, because he loves you and wants that. Let's not jump to conclusions."

"You're saying I should trust him."

"Until we have more to go on, yeah." Before he could figure out what else to say, his phone rang. He answered it, listened a moment, and then said, "Yeah, we're on it." He disconnected, looked at her. "We've got a case. Body found in a state park in Virginia."

B&B

Booth stood back, observed the crime scene. The body, or what was left of it, was slumped at the bottom of a tree. Brennan crouched, studying it, while Hodgins took samples of the soil.

"What do you think, Bones?"

She looked up, frowning. "There's a lot of flesh here for Cam, but definitely male, most likely mid-thirties." She looked around. "There's a significant portion of the body that's not present, though." She motioned to the right side of the body. "Left arm, lower portion of left leg; right foot."

He nodded. "The ranger said something about that. I'll go get the details." He paused. "What's that scent? Do you smell it? Over and above the decomp, there's a sweet smell."

"Honey," Hodgins said. "It's all down the tree, mixed in with the soil and leaves." He touched the victim's jeans with a gloved finger, "and it's on his clothing."

Booth looked up, around. "There are a few bees around, but no sign of a hive."

Hodgins studied the area and then said, "The bees might be put off by the decomp, but this is why we're not seeing a hive." He scooted over a few feet from the body and held up a honey bottle.

"So they drenched the body in honey and then dumped it out here? Could he have died from an allergic reaction?"

"There are people for whom honey is an allergen," Brennan noted. "Though if he was allergic and knew it, why the bottle? But if it's murder, it doesn't seem very efficient. "More than likely whoever left the remains here thought that the honey would attract animals quicker."

"Because, yeah, that's top on the list of what murderers think about," Booth said dryly. "Being efficient." He turned, walked over to where the ranger who'd called in the body stood. She was angled so as not to see the crime scene, slightly upwind.

"Ranger Dubois?"

She was fit-looking woman of about thirty, Booth judged and there was a tan underneath the green tinted pallor of her skin.

"That's me," she swallowed. "I smell decomp all the time in animals, and it doesn't bother me. But knowing what's over there, I keep wanting to hurl."

"I understand. Can you tell me what happened? You were patrolling here for a reason?"

"There's been increased animal activity in this area – hikers reporting more bear sightings, bobcats. That almost always means something's up." She sighed. "Then, last night, a wild-eyed hiker stopped by the ranger station and said he'd come face to face with a black bear…who was completely uninterested in him because he – the bear -was carrying a human arm."

"So you checked it out."

"Had to, though I privately thought he was nuts. But, no." She motioned to the body.

"Before that, though, there were more animals around?"

"We don't always know where every animal is, obviously. But there are areas where they're more likely to be seen, and the trail through this area is way too close to the main road. So when we started getting hikers reporting seeing animals, we began checking it out."

"But you didn't see the body until today?"

She shook her head. "Unless we have something more specific to go on, we stay on the trails. There's simply too much ground to cover, otherwise. But after the arm report, I was looping off and on the trail," she motioned in a circular fashion, "and then I smelled it."

"Did you see any sign of the bear?" Brennan would want the arm back, if they could find it.

"No, but we're looking. I'll let you know if and when we do."

"Thanks." He looked down at the card he'd been jotting notes on. "How long have you been getting reports of increased animal activity?"

She frowned. "About a week? 10 days? No longer than that."

"I take it there haven't been any reports of abandoned cars in any of the lots?"

"No, that was the first thing I checked on after reporting the body. No cars, no hikers unaccounted for, no abandoned campsites, at least not that we're aware of."

* * *

><p>Brennan looked up as Cam entered her office. "The autopsy is done," she said. "Mr. Nigel-Murray is prepping the body to remove the flesh, and Hodgins has the clothes."<p>

"Yes, he told me. Were you able to determine cause of death?"

Cam nodded. "Twelve gauge shotgun. Two slugs were still in him, though evidence suggests there were a total of four. One lodged in his spine after going through his heart and one in his upper right thoracic region are still there – I've got Angela working the slugs."

"And the other two?"

"One went through his right arm, and the fourth through his left hip. The heart was the kill shot."

"Interesting dispersal."

"There's more. There are wood slivers all through him."

"Back blow?"

Cam nodded. "Someone shot through something to get to him. Hodgins is typing the wood."

"Unless the slivers are from a tree, he most likely wasn't killed in the park."

"No, but Booth will probably want someone to take another look at the crime scene for the missing slugs."

"I'll call him."

B&B

Booth scowled at the monitor and entered another search term. It wasn't going well, but was that a good thing, or not?

"Hey," Sweets stood in his door. "Claudia said there's a case?"

"Yeah. Body found in a Virginia park." The results of his search came back, and he paused a moment, then entered a different parameter. It was a reach, but…

"What are you doing?" Sweets asked, curiosity in his voice.

"Running like crimes."

"I thought Claudia was doing that?"

It was probably busy work for her at this point, but too often the possibility of a pattern wasn't checked until far too late. "Different case."

"There's two cases? Claud only told me about the one.""

While the next search ran, he looked up. "Not really. I hope." At Sweets' baffled look, he said, "Max is in town with secretive, suddenly changing plans and appointments he won't explain."

"Dr. Brennan is afraid he's resuming his life of crime?"

"Yeah. But it doesn't fit." He picked up the dice on his desk, tossed it from one hand to the other. "I don't doubt that he's broken the law the last few years, skirted a few edges. But I can't see him hurting someone, or risking his relationship with Bones and Russ." He eyed Sweets and thought to himself, _When you have a shrink at your disposal, you use that shrink._ "What's your take on him?"

"On Max?" Sweets frowned in thought for a moment. "Healthy ego, strong sense of self. Solid moral code…it's just not necessarily the currently accepted one."

"Meaning…?" Booth was pretty sure Sweets had just summarized his take on Max, but it was always good to check.

"He's not going to be pressured into doing something he doesn't want to do, but will follow through on what he believes is right. He's demonstrated a willingness to suffer himself before risking his relationship with Dr. Brennan or her brother…unless they're in trouble."

Booth grunted, the scowl back. "He'd tell me if he thought Bones was in danger for some reason."

"So, are you getting anything?" Sweets motioned to the computer.

"Nope. Nothing that matches any of things I know to search on." The most recent search, too, came back empty, and he shut the program down. "Still nothing, which is what I was expecting. He's wily, and up to something, but it's probably not criminal, or no more so than running an illegal poker game."

B&B

Brennan frowned at the bones laid out on the table in front of her, minus the skull, which Angela was working with. "It's impossible to learn all we need to know about him when so much of the skeleton is absent."

"The rangers have not found any additional remains?" Vincent asked.

"No and while it's still possible that they'll find the bear and at least some of the arm, the other remains could be anywhere."

She turned over the left number seven rib, moved to bring it up on the monitor where she could see it more clearly. "There's a scar here. Knife wound, fully healed."

Vincent was studying the remaining humerus. "I believe this might be evidence of an old gunshot wound, as well."

Brennan motioned for him to put it on the monitor, and nodded. "It appears a bullet was lodged against the bone and then surgically removed. Very good, Mr. Nigel-Murray."

"None of the injuries, even the new ones, show evidence of honey."

"Correct. The slugs didn't travel through the substance, so it was added later."

"Did you know that the ancient Egyptians used honey for embalming?" At Brennan's look, he answered his own question. "Of course you knew that."

"Old knife and bullet wounds, evidence that his zygomatic arch had been broken and healed, death by shotgun. Booth will draw conclusions from that." She pulled off her gloves. "I'm going to see if Angela has made any progress with the reconstruction. Continue examining the bones and notify me if there are any other abnormalities."

She found Angela studying her monitor, comparing her computer-generated image with a photo in a split-screen.

"That looks like a match, Angela. If so, well-done. That was very quick."

"It always helps when they're in the first database I check," Angela said dryly. "But yeah, it's matching up. His name is Philip Thompson. He's an ex-con, paroled six weeks ago. Cam's getting the DNA to test and confirm, but the blood type matches."

"How long was he in prison?"

"He served 10 years of an 18-year sentence for assault, attempted murder, armed robbery. He was an addict, stabbed a woman with a knife 11 times when she didn't hand over her purse fast enough."

"Violent offenders frequently leave enemies in their wake," Brennan said. "I'll notify Booth."

* * *

><p>Booth stood in the observation room with Sweets, watching the man at the table on the other side of the glass trace circles on the table, a dreamy expression on his face.<p>

"That's the next of kin, isn't it? Isn't it unusual to put them in an interrogation room?" Sweets asked.

"Yeah. Name's Donnie Thompson. And no, not when the next of kin is stoned out of his mind. When I told him about his brother, he giggled, and said it was okay, that Philip would be singing with the angels."

"You think he's the murderer?"

"Can't rule it out, though it doesn't really fit with how it went down." Booth shook his head. "Thompson's parole office said he was living with this clown, but until I can get through the happy haze to whatever brain cells he has left, I can't determine if there's motive."

"Brothers have been killing one another with little or no motive for a long time."

"Cain and Abel," Booth agreed. "But look at the guy. Does that really look like someone who shot his brother and dumped the body in the woods?"

Sweets stared through the glass for a moment, then was forced to shake his head. "No, but Claudia told me the dispersal of the bullets wasn't consistent with any kind of professional, or even experienced, shooting. And then there's the honey - that's just plain weird."

"So you're saying maybe it all made sense to someone who looks like he hasn't been sober since he was twelve?"

"Something like that. What else did the parole officer say?"

"He seemed genuinely surprised and dismayed. Said he'd thought Philip had a chance of making it – that he regularly went to a 12-step program, and had managed to stay employed. All his drug tests came back clean."

"That can't have been easy if he was living with that," Sweets said, motioning toward Donnie.

Right then, Donnie stood up and turned around in a circle, though it was hard to tell whether he was dancing to some internal music or trying to see where he was. "Hey! Can I get something to drink?"

Booth moved toward the door. "Stay here and observe."

He entered the interrogation room, where Donnie Thompson was now staring at his reflection in the glass, tilting his head back and forth. He spun around when Booth came in. "Oh! You brought me water. That's nice."

It was more than fair, to Booth's mind. They gave him water, he gave them DNA.

Booth sat the bottle down on the table. "Sit down, Mr. Thompson."

"Sure. I can do that." He did so and then managed to open the bottle and took a long drink.

"You are Philip Thompson's brother, correct?"

Donnie bobbed his head. "Sure. Yep. Though he's a year older than me," he said, as if that qualified the sibling relationship.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

Donnie frowned. "Wait. I remember now. You said he was dead."

"I did. Someone murdered him. Do you know anything about that?"

He stared at the bottle for a minute and then vigorously jabbed his index finger in his ear, he seemed to be trying to scratch an itch he couldn't reach, "Nope. Don't think so. Pretty sure."

"You're pretty sure you didn't murder your brother?"

Donnie shrugged. "We weren't close. He'd been locked up for a long time. You know, in jail?"

"Yeah, I know what it means. But he was staying with you."

"When he first got out. But he was dull. He didn't want to party no more. That jail sucked all the life out of him." He stabbed at Booth with a finger. "Hey. Maybe jail killed him."

_Was it possible to be this stupid_, Booth wondered, "When was the last time you saw him?"

Donnie appeared to think about it. "Two weekends ago." He thunked his hand down on the table, apparently pleased with himself. "He was pissed because I had some people over to party. Said he'd get in trouble with his PO, even if he didn't do the junk. Moved out. I ain't seen him since."

"Where did he go?"

"Church." He giggled, and ran his fingers through his greasy, tangled hair. "He was always going to church, or to meetings. Kept praying for me."

Not holding out much hope for a sensible answer, Booth asked, "What church?"

Donnie took a drink, frowned in thought. "The big one, on the corner. Pastor Mike. That's what Phil would call him when he prayed. Pastor Mike." He looked around, and Booth thought something might be breaking through the haze. "Hey. Am I under arrest?"

* * *

><p>Booth pulled into a spot in the parking garage at the lab, trying not to feel guilty for the detour he'd just taken. He and Brennan had exchanged keys a while ago and given the number of his belongings residing in her place, it wasn't unreasonable for him to have stopped there for some reason.<p>

Only the reason he'd stopped was to see if Max was there. He hadn't been and Booth had stopped short of actually going through her father's belongings – though the only reason he'd not done so was that it would be pointless. Whatever was going on, Booth would bet money Max didn't leave evidence behind in his luggage.

Shaking his head, he put Max out of his mind and went looking for the team.

He found them in the ookey room, grouped around a monitor where Hodgins had just brought up a chemical analysis of some sort on a monitor. "Hey, Booth," he said. "Wood fiber's oak. Standard grade for exterior doors. The finish is old enough it's no longer being made."

"Someone shot him through an old door?"

Hodgins nodded, "That's what it says to me. Pretty much blew the door apart."

"Not to mention Philip. What color?"

"It appears to be a widely-used, dull brown." He turned and brought something else up on the screen. "What I got from the honey is that it's the most common brand sold in supermarkets in the area of Virginia where you found the remains."

"So…nothing there, then."

"Well…there's a farmer's market outside the park entrance nearest to the dumping site that sells a local honey – not this."

"They went prepared, took the honey with them," Brennan said.

"That would be my take on it."

Booth's phone buzzed, and he stepped away, answered it. He listened for a moment, then said, "Thanks for that," before hanging up. His turned back to the team. "That was Turner. She just got off the phone with the warden, and his take on the victim lines up with the parole officer. He did what they told him and worked to stay out of trouble for the most part."

Brennan looked thoughtful. "It appears that there wasn't anyone who had problems with him. Wouldn't that be unusual for an ex-convict?"

Booth shook his head. "He wouldn't go that far. He said Philip was in a fight a few years ago – he intervened to save an inmate who being attacked. Afterward, they had to put the guy he fought with in a different cell block because the other guy didn't like being thwarted."

"Is he still in prison?" Hodgins asked, interjecting himself into the partners' conversation.

"Yeah. He's due to be released in few months. But his brother is out. He runs a gang in Baltimore."

Hodgins shook his head. "Dude, no way that was a gang hit."

"No, but we'll bring him in, anyway, see what he has to say. Right now, Bones and I are headed to church."

B&B

Booth pulled into the parking lot next to the building proclaiming to be 'Faith Community Church.'

"This doesn't look like a church," Brennan observed.

It didn't. It looked more like a warehouse than a place of worship. "Yeah, but sign trumps architecture. It's big, it's on the corner, and it's just a few blocks from Donnie Thompson's apartment." He got out, waited for her to join him, then motioned to the sign. "And then, there's that." In smaller letters below the name of the church, it said, "Pastor Mike Scoler, Assistant Pastor, Brenda Eichs."

Brennan read the sign out loud, "Pastor Mike…"

They went through the doors and found half the building partitioned off into an auditorium of some sort, while the rest was meeting rooms and an informal gym. They followed signs to the office, where a middle-aged woman appeared to be reigning supreme.

When Booth showed her his badge, she pressed her lips together. "Cops," she said without heat. "No offense, but that's never a good thing."

"None taken, ma'am. Is Reverend Mike Scoler here?"

"Good thing you want him. He's here. Brenda's the one who's out." She pressed a button on her phone, and announced them. Then she pointed through an adjoining door. "That way."

The office they walked into was one part meeting room, one part library, and one part kitchen. Mike Scoler, who Booth judged to be in his late 40's, turned when they came in, and held up a coffee pot. "Can I get you some coffee?"

Booth nodded and they settled at the table. The minister took a sip of his and sighed. "I knew I'd need the extra hit of caffeine when Rose said you were here. What can I do for you?"

"Do you know this man?" Booth opened the folder he carried and slid out the photo of Philip.

Sadness touched the other man's rough features as he picked up the photo. "I know him. That's Phil Thompson." Then he looked up at them. "What happened? I find it very difficult to believe he's in trouble with the law."

"He's dead," Booth said. "Murdered. His body was found in a park in Virginia."

"Damn." At Booth's raised eyebrow, he shook his head. "Old habits sneak through, but I'm not going to apologize for that one." He sat back. "Murdered, you say?"

"Yes. What can you tell us about him?"

"You said you found it hard to believe he had done something illegal," Brennan said, "but he was an ex-con."

Mike nodded. "We minister to ex-cons and their families, as well as addicts. But that doesn't mean we're naïve. Many of those who come through here initially see us as easy pickings. Just another con: they say the right words, claim to have been saved, and we feed and shelter them. Or they don't bother with the con at all, but just scope us out, looking for what they can steal." He shrugged. "We help them get on their feet, will do all we can to help them get turned around. Whether they do or not is between them and God. But we're not as gullible as they expect. I've been doing this long enough to develop a sense of who's trying to play us and who's sincere. We'll help even the players…but we still know what they're up to."

"And Philip?" Booth asked.

"He was on the level. Absolutely. One of our members has a tree trimming service, and hired Phil. It's hard work, but Phil not only didn't complain, he looked for more to do. We have a variety of 12-step programs meeting here and some weeks, he'd go to one every day. His goal was to be clean long enough to sponsor someone else. He wanted that, wanted to give back." He brought his hand up, rubbed his eyes. "He was also seeking to make contact with his victims, to apologize, to seek forgiveness, to offer restitution where he could."

Booth exchanged a look with Brennan. Former victims was a whole other group to consider. "Was he having problems with anyone?" Thinking about the park, Booth added, "Others on the tree crew, perhaps?"

Mike shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. Things had been tense between him and his addict brother, but even that calmed down when Phil moved out."

Brennan shifted. "Where did he go?"

"Generally, we don't provide any kind of long term housing – we don't have it to provide. But in Phil's case, an exception was made. He was renting a room from one of our deacons." He shook his head. "This is going to upset a lot of people. He wasn't perfect – no one is. But he was well-liked. Some of the other cons looked at him as a role model, looked to him for hope."

"What would he tell them?" Brennan asked, curiosity apparent.

"That they should look to God for hope. That he was just a man who got up every day grateful he'd made it another day without drugs, without harming someone else."

"So what was his flaw? You mentioned he had one?" Booth said.

"He could be very persistent. Annoyingly so."

Silence fell, and then Booth stood. "Thank you for your time. Can you give us the address of where he was living?"

"Certainly." Mike got up, went to his desk. "I'll also check with some other people, see if anyone remembers him saying anything. The recovery programs use our building but function on their own, of course, but I'll check with some of them, as well. Anything comes up, I'll have them contact you." He wrote out an address, handed it to Booth.

"That would be a big help."

"What will happen to his body? I can't imagine his brother being interested in making arrangements for a burial, even if he has the funds, and there is no other next of kin."

"We can release the body to you, if you like, when we've finished the investigation."

Mike blew out a breath. "Yes. I'd like that very much."

B&B

They were settled in the SUV and Booth was pulling out of the parking lot when Brennan broke the silence they'd maintained since leaving Mike's office. "Do people really change like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Philip Thompson was an addict who assaulted a woman, stabbing her 11 times. And now he's sounding like a model citizen."

"There but for the grace," he murmured. "But yes, I think people can change. I know they can."

"What was that first thing you said?"

He hesitated, then said, "It's part of a quote. 'There but for the grace of God go I.' I'm an addict – just because I wasn't addicted to drugs or alcohol doesn't mean I couldn't have been."

She was frowning. "That's true. I've been researching it, and the National Institute of Mental Health released a paper a few weeks ago that cites evidence that addiction is a brain disease. The brains of addicts are more sensitive to dopamine than the standard population."

"People have been saying it's a disease for years. All that means is that addicts have a convenient excuse."

"No more so than a diabetic has in managing their disease." Her tone was pragmatic. "Addicts are more likely to become addicted to certain substances or the pleasure rush from certain behaviors than are others, but that only means the responsibility falls on them to choose healthy behaviors." She turned to him. "As you do. And I do not believe you would assault someone like that. Addicts respond to differently to different situations, so what one would do is not necessarily the same as what others would do."

"Thanks, Bones, but I don't think any of us ever truly know what we're capable of, good or bad. Under the right circumstances, otherwise good people can kill – or bad people can do good things. Addiction only makes it more unpredictable." Damn, he hated this conversation.

"You changed. You beat the addiction. How do you know it's for good? That when you change, you won't change back?"

Trust her to ask the hard questions. "I don't think you do. Any day could be the day I slip. Gambling doesn't tempt me the way it did at one point, because I'm in a different place in my life. But that doesn't mean it couldn't."

"You mean you're managing the temptation more effectively than you once did. And by this line of reasoning, addiction is no different from other behavior, other changes individuals make, and can unmake."

"Personal responsibility, all the way."

She went quiet, and then said, 'So you can never really trust that someone has changed, that they won't revert to earlier behavior."

Max. He nearly smacked himself. He'd been comparing himself to Philip, and she was wondering if her father was headed back to prison. "I think you have to trust him until he proves otherwise. No one's perfect. We all let others down at some point – and ourselves."

"What do I do?"

"What do you do if he lets you down?"

"Yes."

"Only you can decide that, Bones. Either having a relationship with him is worth forgiving him, or it's not."

"This is very confusing, Booth. You say people can change, but then say they don't."

"I never said that. I said we all make mistakes. That's different from not changing. Your father's had opportunities to go back to his old ways since being acquitted of Kirby's murder, and he hasn't. He's made a lot of choices – even to letting me arrest him in the first place – for your sake."

"You think I should trust him."

"Until you know for certain you shouldn't…yeah."

She looked at her watch. "While we're out, could we detour to my apartment and see if he's there?"

His phone buzzed, and seeing it was Turner, put it on speaker phone. "Hey, Turner."

"Sir, we found the brother of the man Philip took down in prison and are bringing him in from Baltimore, but there's some sort of snafu on their end. It may be tomorrow morning before we can interview him."

"That's annoying, but doable. Hey, can you check Philip's file for me – does it list his victims there?"

"Yes, sir. I saw that earlier. Just a moment." She came back, and said, "There are three listed in his file - the attack he went to prison for and two robberies from before that."

"Set up interviews with all of them and see if any of them had asked to be notified of his release."

"Ingrid Calhoun – the assault victim – should know." Turner said. "It's in his file that she was notified. I'll set up the interview."

Out of the corner of his eye, Booth noticed Brennan checking her watch. Something about her face had him covering the phone's speaker and saying, 'What? What is it?"

"Can we have time to detour to my apartment before the interviews? I'd like to see if Dad's been back."

He glanced at the time on the phone. 6:30PM. Resuming the conversation with Turner, he said, "Tomorrow morning is fine for the victim interviews, Turner. We'll start fresh in the morning on all of them. Go home."

"Yes sir," she said, and disconnected.

"You didn't need to do that, Booth. We don't need to take the whole evening off. I just want to check on him."

"I know, but there's no reason not to take the evening off. We're allowed to do that occasionally, you know, for non-critical cases. And nothing about this is saying serial killer to me."

He could tell she wanted to argue, but she nodded. "Very well."

And the ease with which she gave in told him more clearly than anything else how worried and distracted she was.

* * *

><p>Max wasn't at the apartment. Brennan stared around in silence, obviously frustrated. "I don't begin to know where to look for him. When he's stayed before, he's been much more forthcoming about his plans."<p>

"We're not going to look for him," Booth said. "At least not until we've eaten something. Then we'll check with the police to make sure he's not in jail, and go from there." And call the hospitals, but he left that part out for the moment.

"You're right. He is an adult and however discourteous of him not to communicate his plans with me, he has every right not to do so." She spun on her heel toward the kitchen, and he followed.

They'd developed an easy rhythm to meals together, one which he enjoyed. They moved around one another, with Brennan chopping tomatoes and garlic for pomodoro sauce for pasta, while he pulled out a chicken breast to broil for himself that he'd eat with the pasta.

"Make a second chicken breast for Dad, in case he shows up. He says he understands with his head that it's possible to get all the right proteins with what I'm making, but that his stomach never agrees. It's a whimsical statement," she added. "His stomach isn't capable of thought."

Booth smiled. "Got it, Bones. Two chicken breasts coming up for the carnivores."

The meal was nearly ready when the door opened and Max walked in. Booth glanced at Brennan, saw her shoulders relax. For just a moment, he allowed himself to entertain the thought of simply throttling her father. "Hey, Max."

"Hi, Booth. Hi, honey." He leaned over, kissed Brennan's cheek. "Wow. That smells wonderful. Any chance of meat to go with it?"

"Chicken breasts are in the oven," she said. "It's nearly finished."

It wasn't until they were sitting down to eat that Booth noticed how tired Max looked, and very old. No wonder Brennan was concerned.

"So what did you do today, Dad?"

He took a bite of his pasta, and Booth was nearly sure it was to give himself time to come up with an answer. "Oh, a little of this, little of that. Hung around here for a while – day time television just isn't the same as it used to be," he grumbled. "Then I had a couple of appointments with some old friends." Something must have clicked, because he smiled. "People I knew from before your mom and I met. Not a shady character among them."

"I stopped by mid-day," Booth said casually. "To get something I needed. Guess you'd already gone by then."

Brennan gave him a sharp look – no doubt knowing perfectly well what he'd been up to – but Max looked sheepish. Or tried to. It wasn't a particularly successful expression for him. "That must have been when I left to see Rosamunde."

Brennan cocked her head. "Rosamunde?"

"A woman I see occasionally." Max winked at her. "I'm not so old as to have lost all interest in the fairer sex."

"As far as I know, there is no age at which males lose that interest," she said dryly.

The talk turned to more general things, with Max asking after Parker, and telling them stories about Russ's daughters. When they finished, though, he stood, and yawned. "However young I feel when I'm around Rosamunde, I'm old enough to occasionally need an early night. You kids be good." He winked at Booth and patted Brennan on the shoulder as he headed toward the guest bedroom.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Brennan turned to Booth. "Do you see what I mean? He's not acting like himself."

"Yeah. I'd say he's worried about something, at the very least." He stood, began gathering the dishes to take into the kitchen. "But I'm not sure what else we can do until he's ready to tell us."

She nodded, and they loaded the dishes into the dishwasher in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. When the kitchen was clean, he turned to her. "What do you want to do tonight?"

She glanced at the clock. "I should work on my presentation for the conference next month, but then…" she gave him a considering look, one he'd come to recognize and which had him going hard. "I didn't sleep well last night, and sex would relax me."

He laughed, and pulled her to him for a kiss. When they broke for air, she murmured, "That is, if you're not too prudish to make love when my dad's here."

He nipped at her lip. "Don't know how you can think I'm a prude after our weekend at the cabin," he said. "But I'm happy to help you relax in any way I can. Besides, I'm pretty sure your dad knows we have sex."

"Of course he does. He asked me if we were."

Okay, maybe he had a bit of prude in him, after all. Booth groaned and dropped his head on her shoulder. He wouldn't ask for the details of that conversation. He just wouldn't. Some things were better left alone.

B&B

Booth was in his office when Turner stuck her head in the next morning. "Agent Booth, Bruce Ritchie is here. I'm having him transferred to the interrogation room."

He looked up at her. "Good. Hey, you've taken some of your boyfriend's shrinkery-for-cops classes, right?"

Her lips twitched at his terminology but she kept her face straight. "Yes, sir."

He stood. "Good. You can observe. Sweets has that meeting at Georgetown and Bones wanted to follow up on a few things at the lab."

They made their way to the observation room, and Booth went to study the brother of the man Philip had fought in prison. He looked cocky, assured. "He's not worried," Booth said. "His hands are completely relaxed on the table." He turned to Turner, and inserted his ear piece. "Well, it was always a long shot, but I'll see what he has to say. Just tell me if you catch something I don't seem to be following up on, or if his body language changes – especially the parts of him I can't see."

"Yes, sir."

He entered the interrogation room. "Mr. Ritchie. We appreciate your cooperation."

Ritchie snorted. "Cooperation, my ass. I was just minding my own business when your dudes picked me up. You ain't got nothing on me."

"You're sure of that, are you?"

"Yeah. 'Cause I ain't done nothing." He smirked.

Pity he couldn't arrest the guy just for being obnoxious, Booth thought. "Does the name Philip Thompson mean anything to you?"

The other man's expression didn't change in any way except for a slight flicker in his eyes. "No. Should it? Someone I need to thank for this little government-sponsored trip to DC?"

"Your brother knew him."

"Ray?" The eyes went flat and cold. "You mean that little prick that went after my brother? No, I don't know him. Why?"

"Seems like a guy like you might want a little payback for his brother being humiliated like that."

Ritchie sneered. "He didn't humiliate Ray. Ray walked out of that room. That dude was carried out on a stretcher." Realization seemed to sink in. "I wouldn't be carted all the way to DC because someone spit at him. He's dead, and you think I did it." He started to laugh.

"And that's funny because….?"

"Ray has plans for him. Big plans, the moment he's loose. Be more than my life is worth to go after him before that. In fact, it's going to ruin his whole day when I break the news to him that someone beat him to it."

"For what it's worth, I believe him," Turner said in his ear.

Yeah, Booth did, too.

B&B

He was finishing the paperwork on Bruce Ritchie when his phone rang. He looked at the readout, and then said, "Hey, Sweets."

There was no preamble. "Max Keenan is at Georgetown University Hospital."

Something sick slid in Booth's gut. Fear for Brennan. Fear for a wily old man he liked a great deal. "As a visitor?" Maybe it was that simple, and he'd been telling the truth, was visiting a childhood friend.

"I don't think so. I was just leaving, heading to my car, when I saw him entering the southwest entrance. Booth, that's the cancer wing. So I came back in and followed him. He's in a waiting room for patients waiting to see consultants."

"By himself?"

"Yeah."

"Damn it. Did he see you?"

"No. At least he didn't act like he did."

And if that wasn't an indication that Max was off his game, Booth didn't know what was. "Thanks, Sweets. I'll get Brennan and head over there."

Damn, damn, damn.

He left his office at a near run, took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. Opening the SUV door, he hit speed dial. When Brennan answered, he said, "Bones, we know where your father is."

His tone must have warned her. "Where? What's going on?"

"Sweets says he's at GU Hospital, in a consultants' waiting room. He's by himself," he said quickly, "but we don't know why. Could be he's waiting for someone else who's seeing a doctor…"

"Of course." Her tone was even. Practical. "I may not make it to the witness interviews, Booth. I need to go to the hospital. I need to find out what's going on."

He gritted his teeth. Did she really think he'd let her do that alone? "I know, Bones. I'm on my way to the lab right now to pick you up. Meet me at the door."

"What? Oh. Of course. Thank you." Her tone was suddenly small and uncertain.

As instructed, she was waiting when he pulled up. She climbed in, and sounded much more herself when she said, "As you said, it may not be anything. He may be there for someone else, perhaps this Rosamunde he mentioned."

"Yeah. No sense in worrying until we know."

"But if that's why he's here, why wouldn't he say so?"

Booth didn't have an answer for her, and he drove in silence, unsurprised when she reached over and laid her hand on his leg. He dropped his hand to cover hers.

B&B

As they left the SUV in the hospital parking lot, Brennan watched Booth open his phone and call Sweets. "Is he still there?" Apparently the answer was affirmative, because he said, "Good." If the doctor comes in, stall him….Yeah, reveal yourself. Tell the doctor Max's daughter is just coming up."

He disconnected, took her hand as they walked into the elevator. It felt like she should say something, but she didn't know what. She wanted to scream, wanted to cry. She wanted to go back to the lab and take another look at Philip's bones. The rangers had found part of the arm, and while it was unlikely to reveal anything new, she still would take the time to look.

Was her father dying? Booth's hand felt warm against hers. Warm and strong.

"Russ said my father had appointments there that he was secretive about as well, before he suddenly announced he was coming up here. This appointment isn't for someone else. He's here for himself."

"I know, Bones."

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"We'll ask. But best guess is he didn't want to worry you until he knew the details."

The doors opened, and she took a deep breath, and stepped out.

Sweets was waiting for them across from the elevators. "He's right down there," he said, indicating with his head. "He's the only one in the waiting room."

"Thanks, Sweets," Booth said.

"Should I stay here? I'm happy to do so."

She saw Booth glance at her, but her focus was on her father. What should she say to him?

"No, you go on back," Booth said. "I'll call you when we know what's going on. You may need to do an initial interview with the victim's victims."

"Okay." He looked at her. "This is a very good hospital, Dr. Brennan."

That got her full attention, though she was puzzled by his pointing it out. "Of course it is."

Sweets smiled a bit, and waved goodbye as he headed into the elevator and they walked in the direction of the waiting room he'd pointed out.

He was right. Max was alone in the room, his head resting on the back of the chair, his eyes closed.

"Dad?"

He looked up, and a crooked smile formed. "Tempe. Why am I not surprised you tracked me down?"

"Because we're the best investigating team the bureau has," she answered in a neutral tone, and watched his smile grow. "Dad, why didn't you tell me? What's wrong?"

He sighed as they took seats across from them and said, "We don't know sure for that anything is wrong, honey, and I didn't see the point in anyone else worrying until we know for sure."

Brennan slanted a glance at Booth. Those were nearly his exact words. Then she focused on her father again. "What exactly are you being tested for? I assume you're waiting to see a specialist?"

He nodded. "I had a routine colonoscopy a couple of weeks ago, and the doc was concerned by some polyps that he thought might be pre-cancerous. He wanted me to get checked out by someone else. That's all it is, honey. If it is cancer, it's such an early stage that the first doc couldn't definitely ID it."

Her breath eased out. Maybe he was attempting to make it sound better than it was, but he was right. That was far better than a stage 4 diagnosis would have been.

"You still should have told us. Russ is worried, too."

Max sighed. "I know. I knew I wasn't really convincing you. Guess my skills are slipping."

Her voice was dry. "The lying skills?"

"Yeah, those. Or maybe I just have a couple of really sharp kids." He shook his head. "I don't really know why I didn't tell you. Too used to being alone, I guess."

The comment struck her. It had never really occurred to her that he, too, had spent many years alone after her mom was killed.

Before she could figure out a response, a noise at the door drew their attention. A man stood there in a white coat, his name embroidered in red above the pocket: "Dr. Peter Meadors."

"Hi, Max." he said. "Why don't you come on back and we'll discuss the results of the second colonoscopy. He looked at Brennan and Booth. "Are these your kids?"

Max looked at her, and smiled, then grinned at Booth. "Two of the three." Booth started, and Max shrugged. "Well, technically, he's not, but he's so much hers, it's pretty much the same thing."

The doctor smiled. "I know how that works." He stepped back, said "Come this way." As they moved down the hall, he looked at her. "You look familiar to me…Temperance Brennan! I enjoy your books very much – and your papers."

"You read papers on forensic anthropology?" Booth asked.

"It's a hobby of sorts. I enjoy other areas of science."

They settled into his office, and his smile faded. Brennan felt her muscles tense, and realized that Booth had shifted his chair closer to her, had taken her hand. Her days of being alone were over, she realized.

Dr. Meadors turned, brought up something on his computer, then looked back at Max. "The polyps are benign," he said without preamble. "The cellular structure doesn't resemble anything we've ever identified as any form of malignant or pre-malignant cells."

Air expelled into the room from all three of them, and the pressure on Brennan's chest eased.

"I don't have cancer?" Max asked.

"No. Still, it's not completely without concern because a body that generates benign cells that mass can occasionally begin producing malignant ones. That's not the same as precancerous," he said firmly. "It just means we need to be careful."

"Careful, how?" Brennan asked.

"I'm going to make recommendations for some dietary changes, and I want you to be tested again in two years – sooner if you experience any of the symptoms on this handout." He handed Max a brochure. "I have absolutely no concerns at the moment about your health. It's just wise to take precautions. And now that we have this exam on record, we'll be able to compare it with future results and tell immediately if there's any sign of aggressive growth of polyps." His glance took in all three of them. "Does that make sense? Any questions?"

"Makes perfect sense to me, Doc."

"You've explained it quite adequately," Brennan said.

He smiled. "That's high praise coming from you, as I understand it."

"You got that right," Max said with a smile toward her. He stood, and the rest of them followed suit.

"Don't hesitate to call if you have any concerns or questions," Meadors said, and escorted them out.

As they walked toward the elevator, Brennan turned to Max. "So now what? Will you go back to Russ's?"

"'Fraid so, kiddo." His eyes gleamed. "I have beach plans with two little girls." He sobered. "You don't mind, do you? I'll be back up here driving you crazy soon enough. I just figure this is sort of like a honeymoon period for you and Booth, and you don't need me hanging around."

Booth said nothing, though his face was tinted slightly. They'd been noisier the night before than they'd intended.

"Of course I don't mind. You're welcome anytime – you know that."

"I do," Max said. They'd reached his car, parked not far from the SUV. "I'll be in touch, and will be back within a month or two."

"Give my love to the Russ and the girls," she said, "and enjoy Florida."

"No question of that." He held out his hand to Booth. "Good seeing you again, Booth. You take care of my little girl."

"Always," Booth said. "I'm glad things turned out the way they did."

"Yeah, it's a relief." With that, he opened the door and climbed in. They started toward the SUV, waving as he drove out of the lot.

At the SUV, Booth suddenly took her hand, tugged on it until he could pull her into a hug. She went, laying her head on him with a sigh. "I'm fine."

"I know you are," he said. "But maybe I'm not. I think we might need to soundproof the walls before he comes back."

She laughed and leaned up to kiss him. "Shall we go back to witness interviews?"

"Yep, back to murder and mayhem," he agreed.

B&B

They found Sweets in the conference room at the Hoover. "How is everything?"

"Fine," Brennan responded. "A colonoscopy revealed some polyps, so a specialist re-did the exam. They're benign."

"Oh, that's great. I'm really glad to hear that, Dr. Brennan."

"Thanks for your help this morning," Booth said. "Following him and keeping an eye on him."

Sweets shrugged. "I'm glad I happened to see him."

Brennan shifted, clearly ready to think about something else. "So what about the witness interviews?"

"The first robbery victim is a no-go. He's in a retirement center in southern California, hasn't left in two years. I just finished with the second robbery victim. Her name is Linda Farnhurst,she was in town and admits to seeing him. He came to see her three weeks ago, to apologize and return the money he stole from her."

Intrigued, Booth asked, "How much?"

"He got $70 in cash and a nice watch. He told her he didn't know how much the watch was worth, but gave her $300. Told her he knew it didn't really make up for what he did."

"What was her reaction?"

"All positive. She said she'd never heard of a thief doing that before, and said that before he showed up with the money, she'd not really thought of the crime in years."

"Did you believe her?" Brennan asked.

"Yeah. I just can't see her killing him. But I'll continue trying to get a better picture of her schedule over the past few weeks."

"That works. Thanks, Sweets."

He looked up at the clock. "Ingrid Calhoun should be here any minute."

On cue, Turner stuck her head in the door. "Ingrid Calhoun and her husband are here."

Booth motioned to the table. "Bring them in, Turner."

"I'll go write up the report on the robbery victim," Sweets said, and followed her out.

Ingrid Calhoun was a small woman of perhaps 35. Her husband, who introduced himself as Steve, looked to be few years older, a beefy guy with a tanned face.

Booth had them sit, and then said, "Did Agent Turner explain why you're here?"

"Not really," Steve said. "I gather it has something to do with that piece of shit who attacked Ingrid."

"Is he back in prison?" She sounded hopeful.

"No, ma'am," Booth said. "He's dead. Murdered."

"The state should have done that for us," Steve commented. At Booth's look, he shrugged. "He tried to kill her. Thought he had, according to his confession. Do you know how much damage 11 stab wounds will do?"

Booth saw Brennan start to speak, and knowing she was going to answer the rhetorical question, said instead, "I understand the sentiment, Mr. Calhoun." His glance took in both of them. "But the man was murdered."

"Well, we can't tell you anything beyond the fact that we'd like to thank whoever did it. He can't hurt anyone else, and that's a good thing as far as we're concerned."

Aware that she'd said very little, Booth turned to the woman. "What about you, Mrs. Calhoun? You were aware he was being released."

"Yes." She took a breath. "I was notified. We bought more locks for the door."

"Did he contact you?"

"No," she said immediately, and shuddered. "I would have called the police if he had."

"So, no contact at all? You didn't see him, didn't hear from him?"

"You sound like you don't believe her," her husband said, his tone belligerent.

"He was contacting his victims to apologize," Booth said, "and to make restitution, where possible." So, it's odd that he didn't make contact with you.

Ingrid looked animated for the first time as she scoffed. "Apologizing? He's probably scouting out their homes, planning to return and rob them blind."

"That's not so," Brennan said. "He made restitution to one of his robbery victims."

"Yeah, well, there's no way he can make up for this." She pulled down the collar of her shirt to reveal scars, faint but visible.

"I understand," Booth said. "But since he contacted his other victims, we need to understand the break in pattern."

Something passed between her and her husband, and then she shrugged. "I got a few hang-ups on my cell from 'unknown numbers.' Maybe that was him. I don't answer those kinds of calls. But it wouldn't have mattered. As soon as he identified himself, I would have hung up and called the cops. When I woke up in the hospital 10 years ago, I decided no one was going to screw with me that way again. Especially not him."

After the Calhouns left, Booth turned to Brennan. "There's something off there, but I can't decide if it's just their usual dynamic, or the way she handles the repercussions of her attack."

"The contrast between her and the robbery victim Sweets interviewed is quite extreme."

"Well, you know, difference between being robbed and nearly killed, but yeah. Still a lot of bitterness there, and fear, too, despite her bravado."

"Now what?"

"I'm going to do a deeper run on the Calhouns, see if anything pops. And then I'll track down the AA groups he was part of. Someone wanted him dead and that means someone probably knows who it was that wanted him that way."

"I'm going to return to the lab and see what kind of progress Mr. Nigel-Murray has made with the part of the arm the rangers found."

"Sounds good. Keep me posted."

* * *

><p>He'd just finished his notes on the Calhoun interview when Turner knocked on this door. He looked up, saw Mike Scoler standing there.<p>

"Reverend Scoler asked to see you. He said it's important."

"Of course." He motioned for the other man to come in, take a seat. "How are you, Pastor Scoler?"

"I'm fine. I've been on the phone off and on since you left yesterday, and something one of my parishioners said struck me as odd. I was in the city today, anyway, and thought I'd drop by."

"I appreciate it." Booth leaned back over his desk, picked up a note card. "What did you learn?"

"Cody's out of town on business, but I tracked him down. He was discipling, sponsoring, Philip and I knew he'd want to know." He sighed. "I should have thought to mention him yesterday, because aside from the deacon Philip was living with, Cody probably knew him as well as anyone. But he's been in Denver for the last week, doing some consulting work."

"What did he say when you told him?"

"He was very upset, as I expected. But then he said something which struck me. He told me that the last time he saw Philip was three days before he left for Denver. They had lunch and prayed together, because Philip was going to go see one of this victims that afternoon, and he was nervous. Cody said he tried to call him that day and the next, and Phil didn't answer his phone. He thought perhaps the meeting hadn't gone well and Phil wanted some time to process it, so he didn't pursue it further right then and then he left for his trip."

"He's not heard from him since?"

"No."

"Did he say whether or not he'd talked to the person before going to see them?"

"Yeah. She wouldn't talk to him. Told him to leave her alone."

"She actually spoke to him? Didn't just hang up?"

"No. She told she didn't want to see him. Wouldn't see him. He thought she'd change her mind when he showed up."

"He didn't happen to know the name of the person Phil was going to go talk to? Was it Linda?"

"He did know the name, because they prayed for her. But it wasn't Linda." He pulled out his phone, checked something. "Ingrid. Her name was Ingrid."

_Bingo baby_, Booth thought.

B&B

Booth pulled the SUV into the Calhouns' drive. "Nice place," he said to Brennan. "Set back from the road a bit, nice yard."

They got out, walked up the path. He checked his gun, made sure it was loose in its holster.

The door opened before they were fully on the porch. "Agent Booth," Ingrid said. "Why are you here?"

"We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way," he said. "Lying to a federal agent is a big no-no."

"I didn't lie." But panic was starting to flicker in her eyes.

"Philip told a friend that you'd refused to speak to him," Brennan said.

"He didn't have any friends. He couldn't have."

"He did. And he spent time with him right before he left to come here. I've got a warrant for your phone records, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to see calls from him to you. Calls longer than what it takes to hang up on an unknown number."

"Oh, damn it," she said, and shoved at the door. "This is so unfair. He ruined my life once, and now he's going to do it again."

"No, I think this time you managed that on your own." Booth grabbed her by the arm, turned her around, and cuffed her. "Nice door by the way. Is it new?"

B&B

Booth sat back on Brennan's sofa and stretched. One of the nice things about doing case paperwork now was that when they were finished, they could just walk in the other room and go to bed.

"Such a waste," Brennan said. "His life. There was potential there."

"Yeah. Caroline says they're probably going to plead it down. Calhoun will claim post-traumatic stress or diminished capacity due to her identity as a victim."

"She doesn't show any remorse. It seems like she should. She was very clinical in her description of what happened."

"He showed up, she freaked, grabbed her husband's shotgun and started shooting."

"What about her husband?"

"They're charging him as an accessory after the fact. It's possible he'll serve more time than she will if she gets a sympathetic jury. But he helped her transport the body, replaced the door, and lied his ass off."

"Maybe she'll feel remorse then," Brennan said.

"It's possible that it's easier for her to hold the line that he was evil and deserved to die than to face the fact that she killed a man who was sincerely trying to make amends."

She finished organizing their notes, and sat back next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Good people can kill under the right circumstances, you said."

"I don't know if she was good, but yeah, I imagine she thinks of herself that way."

"People don't just change for the better."

"No, they don't. We probably know that better than anyone." He shifted so he could look down at her. "Are you getting to something specific, Bones?"

"Not really." She was silent for a minute. "Just thinking about that combination of choice and biology. We're never static. Something happens to us, we react, and change – either in a positive or negative direction – and then something else happens. Even when we don't realize we're changing."

It was an unusual mood for her and he wasn't completely sure what to say. "That sounds right."

She reached down, linked their hands. "I've changed a great deal since the day I met you."

Now he did know what to say. "All for the good, Bones. And you've changed me, too." He tilted her chin up, and kissed her.

* * *

><p><strong><em>When a painful figure from their past is found murdered at the hands of Creeps McGee, the team finds themselves struggling to stay on the trail of their nemesis without losing their way. Join is next week for The Shock to the System by Squinttoyou.<em>**


	19. The Shock to the System

6.5x19 The Shock to the System~ Written by Squinttoyou

Cam paused as she passed the glass wall and gave her reflection a quick review. The image that returned her stare was smoking hot and her upper lip twitched slightly in satisfaction. She had missed her pre-pregnancy wardrobe and it was great to once again wear something like this. It had taken some work to shed the last five pounds, but this particular outfit and Paul's reaction to her wearing it, had been the motivation she needed to get them off. Her hands smoothed the skirt hugging her once again slim hips and feeling confident she resumed her walk.

The doors parted and the security guard allowed her guest to enter. "Mr. Garrison!" she said with enthusiasm as she donned her most grateful smile. "Welcome to the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab."

The mild man in the gray fedora took the hand she offered and pumped it with enthusiasm. "Thank you, Dr. Saroyan. It is my honor."

"Don't be silly," Cam chided lightly. "We are always happy to welcome a donor, especially one with such generosity."

"It was my pleasure," he promised.

Cam figured that covered the initial butt-kissing and she pushed on. "Allow me to give you that tour so you can see just how your donation will be put to use." She began the standard donor tour of the lab stopping often to point out a particularly interesting feature or explain the work being done. As they neared one of the lower work stations near the platform she offered what was usually a well-received tidbit. "This is one of our interns, Wendell Bray. Mr. Bray is working on his doctorate in forensic anthropology. The money we receive in donations does, in part, provide the funding for his research on Maori warriors of New Zealand and eastern Polynesia."

"Fascinating," Garrison said with a simpering smile. "The Maori made brilliant employment of psychological warfare."

Cam gave a smile of approval as Wendell spoke, "I'm focusing more on the cannibalism, but the intimidation efforts were quite effective."

"Ah, the cannibalism," Garrison said with a soft tone that almost gave the term reverence. "Yes, it is quite intriguing isn't it?"

"Uh…yeah," Wendell answered suddenly feeling uncomfortable. The more morbid aspects of his research didn't normally bother him but he suddenly found it awkward to discuss.

"Ok!" Cam said cutting the tension that had developed. "We have one more stop on our tour. If you have time, Mr. Garrison, I would like to introduce you to our most distinguished staff member."

"I was so hoping you would say that, Dr. Saroyan," he quickly agreed.

"Dr. Brennan is often the highlight of the tour," Wendell added. "She's brilliant."

"Oh," Garrison said in disappointment. "Yes, I suppose Dr. Brennan is quite impressive. She has impeccable credentials. But, I must admit I was hoping for a different introduction."

Cam blinked unused to anyone but Brennan taking center stage. "Just who was it you wanted to meet, Mr. Garrison?"

"Dr. Jack Hodgins of course," he stated with enthusiasm.

There were all sorts of reasons why Cam thought she shouldn't do this, but she ignored them and escorted Garrison to Hodgins' office. Her knock was ignored and she stepped inside with her odd little tourist in tow. "Dr. Hodgins, a moment of your time, please?"

"I'm busy, Cam," Jack answered without looking up from his work.

Cam ignored that and moved closer. "This won't take but a moment," she scolded lightly hoping to draw his attention to the fact that they had a visitor.

"I don't have a moment," Jack answered. "I've got a new sample of chrysina aurigans exoskeleton in analysis."

"Beautiful creatures," Garrison gushed.

Jack's head popped up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Garrison was looking curiously at the notes and material he had strewn about his desk as he worked on his latest Creeps theory and Jack nearly jumped from his stool in an effort to guard his work. "Who's this?" he demanded.

"This is Mr. John Garrison," Cam introduced him. "He was kind enough to make a sizeable donation to our operating fund and we're showing our gratitude by allowing him a tour of our lab. He was most anxious to meet you, Dr. Hodgins." She stepped aside to allow the men to greet one another properly and she whispered to Hodgins as she passed. "Play nice with the other rich guy, funding is tight."

Garrison was happily pumping Hodgins hand in an eager greeting but the scientist wore a slight frown. "Don't I know you?" he said as he searched his memory for why the man looked so familiar. It came to him and his face grew slightly accusatory. "I saw you about a month ago! Out in the garden," he added almost as an accusation.

"Not a crime, lighten up," Cam scolded without moving her lips.

"A brilliant mind and a sharp memory," Garrison answered. "That was me. And, I must apologize for that evening. I very much wanted to approach you, but I found myself reluctant to interrupt your conversation with such a lovely woman."

"Ange and I were walking in the garden and he surprised us," Hodgins explained when Cam's face showed signs of terminal curiosity.

"Angela Montenegro-Hodgins," Cam said taking the opportunity to toss out another fact about the lab and its staff. "Our very talented forensic artist and computer expert."

"And your wife, Dr. Hodgins?" Garrison asked, taking note of the name Cam had given.

"Yeah, that's her," Jack answered not liking the interest this guy was showing. Something felt odd here and he began to search for a hidden danger. "Why did you want to talk to me?"

"Any true student of science would be anxious to meet you, Dr. Hodgins. Why, your combination of degrees is quite impressive! Your published research on soil degradation and rejuvenation as it relates to insect population has been praised as brilliant!" He took a deep breath and made an effort to calm his gushing praise. "But, I am almost embarrassed to say that I did have an ulterior motive," Garrison admitted. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small box. "I'm a bit of an amateur entomologist. I have a specimen here I'm very excited about but I'm unable to verify its species. I was hoping you could help me?"

Hodgins face showed his irritation but Cam jabbed him in the ribs and he took the hint. "Yeah, sure," he said reaching for the box. His attitude changed the moment he looked inside. "Dryococelus australis!"

"I was right!" Garrison cheered happily. "How exciting! An actual 'land lobster'! I was afraid to make the call myself. Thank you, Dr. Hodgins. She will be the queen of my collection."

"It's a beauty," Hodgins agreed. He still found something about this man troubling, but he couldn't deny the excellent addition this bug would make to a collection. "They are the rarest insect on the planet. It should be held in a quality environment."

"I promise, my facilities are of the highest quality." The odd little man gave an oily smile as he returned the insect to his pocket. "I appreciate the identification, Dr. Hodgins," he said gratefully and his eyes moved to Hodgins' work table as he continued. "I know you are a busy man."

B&B

"Hey!"

Brennan looked up with surprise and she answered in the same hushed stage whisper. "Hey!" He was wearing a particularly charming yet silly grin and she couldn't help but chuckle. "Why are we whispering?"

"Because that's what you do when you don't want anyone to hear you." He hurried across her office and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, let's get out of here."

He was still giving her that smile and she went to her feet willingly. The kiss he gave her was better than the smile but far too short and when his lips left hers, Brennan let her hands slide down his chest to make the moment last. "It's the middle of the afternoon, Booth," she scolded. "We can't just go."

"Aw, Bones, sure we can!" He turned up the charm in his smile and began to stroke his fingers against that spot on her back, the one where she had a very specific reaction to his touch. "By some miracle I actually cleared my desk of paperwork," he whispered to her. "And we have no open case. Wasting that combination would be criminal. Come on," he said and this time his voice dropped to a husky growl she recognized as a precursor to something pleasurable. "Come play with me, Bones."

"Booth, stop tempting me," she scolded and took a step away. She needed some space or they would be playing and they wouldn't be leaving her office before they started.

"You know you want to," he argued as he followed keeping close enough that she could feel the lure of his touch.

"Cam wanted me to meet a donor. She's giving him a tour right now."

"You hate that, Bones."

"I'm supposed to do it. It's good for the lab."

"And an afternoon together is good for us."

He made that argument as his arms slid round her from behind and she couldn't help but fall back against his chest. The fight was quickly leaving her and it showed in her voice. "It's wrong."

"That's why it's so much fun," he promised as he nuzzled against the curve of her neck. "Let's be naughty."

She gave a deep throaty chuckle as she imagined exactly how naughty he wanted to be. "What if someone asks where we are going?"

"I'll lie," he said and she could hear the triumph in his voice. "Come on."

He took her hand and started for the door. "Booth! I need to turn off my computer and straighten my desk."

"No way, we are out of here before it's too late."

"Booth! I need my bag," she scolded through her laugh.

He allowed that but the moment her hand closed around the strap, he was pulling her to the door again. They strolled to the exit at something just short of a run. As they reached his SUV his phone rang. He gave her a look of dread as he pushed the button to answer. "What's up Caroline?"

"There you are! Why aren't you in your office? My afternoon was freed up; can you and the good doctor move our meeting to today?"

"What?" Booth shouted into the phone. "Caroline! Speak up! I can't hear you?"

"Why are you yelling?" Brennan asked making him shake his head in warning.

"Caroline? Ca…I'm on my way to..."he shouted deliberately distorting his call. "See you tomorrow!"

He smirked at Brennan as he pocketed his phone and she rolled her eyes. "There is no way she will believe that ruse. Her mind is quite sharp and extremely analytical."

He lifted his phone and very deliberately pushed the power button. "We're scheduled to meet with her tomorrow. Today is about us."

An excited gleam shone in her eye as his smile began to affect her. "Should I turn mine off, too?" she asked eagerly.

B&B

He used his foot to nudge his door open and began to struggle his way inside. His burden was heavy and he needed more control over the dead weight he was wrestling so, he tossed his keys and hat onto a nearby table. Unencumbered he continued, kicking the door shut behind him as his prize cleared the threshold. Two boot covered heels thumped against the floor as he dragged the unconscious form across the sparsely furnished loft. The body made a thump as he dropped it, but there was no other reaction.

Working quickly he stripped his victim down to his undershirt and jeans. He tossed the clothes he had removed into a waiting trashcan along with everything his enemy had carried in his pockets. It was tempting to keep the cell phone, just for an opportunity to monitor how many attempts were made to locate what would soon be a missing person, but he resisted. There was a plan and he had not worked this hard to develop it to let a moment of whimsy ruin his success. Grunting as he maneuvered the dead weight of the larger man, he propped him into a seated position against the brick wall.

The iron shackles made a satisfying clank as they closed around the limp wrists. The one meant for the ankle was a bit harder to close, but he managed to get it on tight, but not bindingly so. He had tested the binders thoroughly but he couldn't help but give each chain a hefty tug. Even with his full body weight straining against it, the chain held and the anchor attached to the brick wall showed no signs of weakness.

Cleaning up took only a moment and when the trash was bagged and set aside for proper disposal later, he neared his victim again. This time he pulled a small vile from his pocket and as he knelt, he worked the stopper free. He waved the open container beneath the unconscious man's nose and chuckled at the automatic reaction he saw. "The Romans called them hammonicus sal," he explained as if his victim were listening. "The active ingredient is of course, ammonium carbonate, but I'm sure you would recognize the term smelling salt."

The man chained to the wall gave a groan and the metal rattled as his movements caused the links to shift against one another. "Wake up, Mitchel," he said, as he grew impatient for a better reaction.

There was another groan and then Mitch shook his head gently as he tried to dislodge the cobwebs from his brain. "What happened?" he asked groggily.

"You had a bit of bad luck."

"Wallace?" He squinted up at the man standing in front of him and tried to think through his confusion. He started to lift his hand and rub it over his face but the sound and weight of his bindings drew his attention away from the face he knew. "What's going on? Why am I here? What's with the chains?"

"Are you always this slow?" he sneered. "I'll chalk it up to your reaction to the stun gun. I can't imagine why she would stay with you if you are always this dim."

"Where's Joanna?"

"At her spinning class," he answered confidently. "She goes there from one to two-fifteen on Mondays Wednesdays and Thursdays. After that, she will stop at the smoothie bar for the kiwi-protein shake her trainer recommends. This is the third week of the month, so following that I anticipate she will swing by the library to assist with the tutoring program she is so fond of."

"You are stalking her!"

"Don't be absurd, a good husband pays attention to his wife's activities. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to her."

"She's my wife!"

His fist leapt forward and the blow he delivered smacked the back of Mitch's head against the wall. "She will always be mine."

"You are crazy, Wallace," Mitch accused as he shook his head to ward off the sting. His captor didn't respond and when he stood and walked away Mitch grew nervous. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "Why am I here?"

"Surely even you are intelligent enough to determine why I brought you here," he answered as he returned. He was holding a syringe and carefully squeezing the air from the needle. He tapped the syringe to free the last bubble and a drop of liquid dribbled out of the tip. "What are you doing?" Mitch asked in panic as he neared. "Wallace! Don't… No!…" He tried to protect himself, but his legs were still weak from the effects of the electricity that had been discharged through his body, and the chains prevented him from deflecting the approaching needle. He hissed at the pinch and his blood seemed to burn as the liquid entered his vein.

"Don't worry, it won't kill you," he gave a slight smile as if it were an amusing thought, "At least not right away."

"What is it?" Mitch demanded.

"A homemade concoction of sedatives and mercury dicholoride."

"Why?"

"You're going to be staying here for quite some time, Mitchel," he explained. "This will make it more pleasant for both of us. The sedatives will help you stay calm," he added as he patted the suddenly nodding head. His fingers curled tightly in the other man's hair and he tilted his head up. Mitch's eyes opened, the pain in his scalp giving him one final moment of clarity before the drugs took effect, and Wallace smiled down as he made his intentions clear. "I'm going to kill you, Mitchel. It's going to take quite a long time and it will be painful. You'll soon thank me for the sedatives."

* * *

><p>"That is a fantastic smile," Booth bragged knowing he had put it on her lips.<p>

Without lifting her head from her pillow, Brennan arched an eyebrow and then shrugged, accepting that it was likely a very accurate assessment. He inched closer and draped his arm over her bare back. She smiled at the touch that was followed by the press of his soft lips against her still heated skin. "I don't believe I have ever been this relaxed," she theorized, her voice filled with husky satisfaction.

His lips drifted against her ear and his breath was warm as he responded, "You're welcome."

Her chuckle was deep and happy and when she rolled over, she wore a broad grin. "I've never done this before."

"I know we were a little adventurous that time, but I don't think we were breaking new ground there, Bones."

"I meant…" her words trailed away and her breath caught in her throat as she reacted to him. He had been raining kisses over her as they talked but as he reached her breasts, she found it impossible to continue. The satisfaction she had been feeling began to fade and another round of desire began to build. Cupping her hand behind his head, she held him to her encouraging the attention he was giving her.

"You meant what?" he asked between slow swirls of his tongue.

Brennan pulled his head up, forcing him to slow down and allowing her to think. He knew why he was being guided upward and he crawled over her wearing a cocky grin. The sight of his bravado made her fire burn hotter. "I've never spent seven hours in bed without sleeping," she admitted. His hands had replaced his lips and she sighed at the pleasure she felt.

"It has not been seven consecutive hours," he corrected in the kind of crisp tone and precise language she often used to correct him. "We got something to eat…" he leaned over her and his dark eyes moved over her nakedness like a caress as he thought about their afternoon, "And we took that shower."

Brennan's laugh was deep. "I find those exceptions to be statistically insignificant. And you know what I mean."

"I know it's going to be a few more hours before you go to sleep," he promised.

Filled with a sudden exuberance she hooked her leg around his hip and forced him to his back. The crumpled sheets tangled around her feet and she kicked herself free as she settled on top of him. "You did say today was about us," she reminded him. Her eyes checked the clock on the table by her bed and then moved back to his happy face. "Today still has three hours remaining."

B&B

The sofa faced the brick wall, making his victim the focal point of the sitting area as if he were as entertaining as a television. He sat staring at Mitch with fascination, mesmerized not by the torturous act playing out before him, but by his own interest in it. "You know, Mitchel," he said to the man nodding groggily where he sat slumped against the wall. "I had thought you were to be my most satisfying execution. I planned your end the most carefully. The others needed retribution, but none of them wronged me as you did. What you did was unforgiveable and I took a long time to plan this. But, I have to admit," he said almost casually, "That I've found a bigger challenge. I hope you won't be disappointed to learn that you've been replaced as my mortal enemy."

He stood and walked around the couch to the opposite side of the loft. Here there were rows of insect habitats and he carefully checked the humidity level on the one containing his prize possession. "How are you my sweet?" he asked fondly. "I'm keeping a very close eye on you. I don't want today's activity to put any undue stress on you." He lowered the temperature a fraction of a degree to compensate for a reading on the display. "I do appreciate your assistance earlier. I know leaving home is uncomfortable, but I had to be certain and actually speaking with them was the only way to verify certain information." He took another moment to study the bug, smiling at the way she crawled over her domain as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened in her afternoon.

His eyes flickered up and his smile slipped away. He stood and studied the pictures that covered the wall above his habitat containers. Both his prisoner and his insects were quickly forgotten as he focused on the images. He studied the smiling faces of Dr. and Mrs. Hodgins taken as they strolled through the Jeffersonian's garden. He took a step to his right as he moved through the pictures, giving each careful scrutiny. He found the look of superiority on Dr. Brennan's face as she spoke with Hodgins to be amusing. In another, there was a sickening look of adoration on both Brennan's face and that goon she partnered with, but the indulgent expression on Hodgins' face almost made him laugh. He stopped at a large print of the entire team. He had blown this one up for a reason. The five of them were exiting a restaurant with grim expressions. It had been shortly after they had discovered his punishment to Ofelia Cruz. The looks on their faces, especially Hodgins, were bleak but under that slightly horrified expression was a determination. They looked motivated and far too confident. He had to demonstrate their foolishness.

He needed it to be severe. He needed them, especially Hodgins, to feel it. What he had seen today confirmed his suspicions; the man was paying too much attention. His plans were flawlessly executed, but he knew Hodgins - the man was intelligent enough that if he stumbled into the right information he might actually learn too much. He had only been able to glance at the notes his former colleague was working from today but it was enough to tell him that now was the time to act. Taking away Hodgins' focus would ensure that his plans were completed on schedule. He turned and looked at the man chained to his wall and his smile returned. Yes, he needed to rid himself of this pesky Jeffersonian team and Dr. Jack Hodgins because watching Mitchel die was something he had looked forward to for a very long time and he had no intention of letting it be ruined. He swiveled again and his eyes landed on the picture he studied most often. He was certain of it now. This was the right way to hurt them. It was the right way to destroy Hodgins. Certain of his task he headed for the door.

B&B

Booth heard the phone but he let Brennan answer it -it was her phone after all. She moved for it and he smiled as her warm skin slid against his. Memories of the previous day that would forever be burned into his brain returned and he began to replay all the best parts of their stolen day. What a day. It had definitely exceeded his expectations. When Temperance Brennan decided to lighten up and have a good time, she really meant 'good time'.

The grin he was wearing disappeared when he heard Brennan react to her call. The words 'Yes, this is Dr. Brennan' were uttered with a moment's hesitation. His eyes snapped open and he focused on her face. She had always thought that she didn't dread anything but she dreaded the words she was about to hear.

It was worse than he expected. She looked both panicked and sick and for a fraction of a second, he thought she just might scream. She assured someone on the phone that she was on her way and then she bolted from the bed and he scrambled to follow.

"Bones, what's wrong?"

"I have to go," she mumbled as she stepped into her closet and began grabbing clothes. She jerked several shirts from hangers and then stared at them as if she didn't know what to do with them. Finally, she threw them all down and grabbed a sweatshirt. Her favorite jeans were hanging next to it and she took them as well.

"Go where?" he asked, following as she walked to her dresser and began to rummage for underwear.

"There was a phone call. I have to go."

"I know there was a call. I was right here, Bones." The way she couldn't seem to form a coherent thought was terrifying him and his own panic began to rise. "Bones, who was on the phone?"

She was dressing, pulling on her clothing with movements so fast that they actually hampered her effort. She shook her head and returned to the closet to slip her feet into the first pair of shoes she could find.

Booth jerked open the drawer she had given him for his clothes and pulled on a pair of boxers. He snatched up a pair of socks and headed for the closet. He knew that if he didn't get some clothes on she was going to leave him without an explanation. Opting for the easiest thing available, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She had her shoes on and he reached out to stop her as she took the step that he knew would be the first to carry her out the door. "Bones, you have to tell me. Is it Max?"

Her head shook again and he realized with a start that she was trembling. "Bones, talk to me."

Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth opened but no words emerged. It was as if she couldn't bear to say them. And then, in less time than it took to blink she was locked away. That iron control he knew so well settled in place and she was rational. The vibrant, sexy, emotionally indulgent woman who had awakened in his arms was gone and her protective shell was wrapped around her. "I have to…we need to go. There is an emergency." She looked into his eyes and as she explained, his heart sank. "We need to get to McKinley."

Booth followed her to the door. He still wasn't certain what they were headed toward, but he knew it was going to be terrible for all of them.

He drove with the siren on and by the time he pulled the SUV to a stop in front of the hospital he shared her dread. The full details of her call had emerged as Brennan focused on maintaining her rational control. She was clinging to it as if her life depended on it. They jumped from the vehicle in unison and he was immediately at her side. She needed him and he was determined to protect her.

There was a police officer in the lobby and he recognized Booth. "Show us," Booth ordered as he acknowledged the cop's greeting. The other man understood and he escorted them with quick efficiency leading them through the corridors of the mammoth hospital.

There was a guard at the elevator and Booth automatically took note. The cop saw his attention and explained as he pushed the button for the third floor. "You ordered us not to process the scene. The captain posted guards just about everywhere. The place was going crazy when they figured out what had happened." He winced as he realized what he had said. "Sorry, I probably shouldn't have said it like that."

Neither Booth nor Brennan responded. She hadn't said a word since they arrived and Booth was too concerned to worry about the cop's slip of the tongue. When the elevator doors parted, it was obvious where they needed to go. There was a crowd of officers milling around a doorway waiting to be released from the inactivity Booth's orders had imposed on them. Brennan hesitated. It was only for a second, but Booth saw it and he started to reach for her hand. Before he could, she curled her fingers into a fist, her palms stinging as her nails bit into her flesh, and with that pain providing clarity she forced herself to move forward. The cops at the door parted as the partners approached. Brennan entered and tears filled her eyes when she saw him.

Zach lay on an exam table. It was clear from the vacant lifeless stare of his eyes that it was too late. The dark burn marks at his temples were only confirmation of what was already clear. His lips were pulled back and his mouth hung slightly open as if he had been screaming. His hands were together, bound by silver duct tape and resting on his chest as if held in some grotesque gesture of prayer. He wore his customary pajamas but no shoes and there was a dark stain at the heel of one sock that suggested he had kicked hard enough to bring blood.

A soft whimper issued from Brennan but she immediately stopped it. She moved forward, her steps slow but resolute. The sound of her footfalls seemed inordinately loud to her. Some tiny portion of her mind, the part clinging to rationality, reasoned that all her senses were hypersensitive at the moment. She was in shock and her body was not responding well to normal stimuli. Every step sounded like thunder. She breathed and her lungs seemed to burn with the sting of fresh air. She reached the table and as she lifted her hand, the scratch of her shirtsleeve against her arm felt like sandpaper.

She was at his side. She was there and there was no way to avoid it any longer. She looked at him. Her eyes scanned the body as she always did when approaching a victim but when they reached his face, they locked there. The face she adored. The soft, innocent face of the boy she had loved as a brother. The hand she had lifted touched his head and her fingers slid into the hair he had allowed to grow so that he once again looked far younger than his years. Tears falling freely she bent and kissed his forehead. Her hand trembled as she pulled it from his hair and forced his eyelids closed.

Booth had followed her. Tears made his own sight watery and he blinked, trying to keep his own shock and regret at bay. Brennan was now tugging at the tape binding Zach's wrists. Her attempts were feeble and he brushed her hands away to do it for her.

"That is evidence," she warned jumping at the chance for a normal comment. Anything to make this moment normal, she would take anything to help make this less surreal.

"I know," he answered his voice graveled with sorrow, "But we can't leave him this way." Booth's fingers pried the tape away from the skin of Zach's left wrist. "Damn it," he swore softly. "I don't have my knife. We left too quick for me to do more than grab my gun."

A man in a white lab coat stepped forward and held out a pair of surgical shears. Booth nodded his thanks and used them to cut through the tape. A pair of gloves was offered next and he donned them before he began to pull the tape free. He winced as the sticky adhesive pulled both skin and hair from Zach's body and he tried not to think about the fact that it wasn't felt. The cop who had escorted them held open an evidence bag and Booth dropped the tape and the surgical tool inside.

Brennan took Zach's hands as the tape was removed and she arranged them in something that closely resembled a pose of sleep. As she did, a new fact became evident and a crippling sorrow filled her. Her body sagged in defeat and her throat tightened against the single word that she croaked. "No."

Booth saw it too and fury filled his veins. "Son of a bitch," he breathed. Brennan was reaching for it and he stalled her. "Let me, Bones," he said gently reminding her that he wore gloves. His fingers were gentle as they opened Zach's hand and removed the golden beetle.

"Everybody out," he said as he deposited the bug in another evidence bag. "Now!" he barked when the staff and cops gathered around the scene didn't immediately move.

Brennan was crying now. She couldn't stop. She leaned over Zach and her forehead rested against his. Her tears trickled down his face and it looked almost as if his lifeless body was the one crying. "This was not your error," she promised him. "I did this, you made no mistake."

"Bones, you didn't…" Booth began.

"NO!" She turned to yell at him without leaving Zach. Her fingers of her left hand clutched his pajama top and her right had returned to thread through his hair. "This is my fault," she hissed at him. She turned back to Zach and her voice cracked as she spoke to her protégé, "This is my fault."

He wanted to comfort her, to stop this useless blame she was assigning herself but before he could speak there was a commotion at the door. Feet thumped and squeaked against the tiled floor as if people were moving quickly and then Hodgins burst through the door with Angela at his side.

A wail of sorrow issued from Angela and she hurried forward. "No, no, no, no, no," she chanted as she joined Brennan.

"Don't touch him," Brennan ordered harshly as her friend reached for Zach. "You could contaminate the evidence."

Angela understood, unable to contain the emotion as well as Brennan, the artist sank to the floor on her knees. Her hand clutched the edge of the table, her grip on the cold metal all that prevented her from collapsing on the floor as she wept.

Jack stood rooted to the spot near the door his eyes wide and his skin pale behind his beard. "How?" he asked. Booth met his gaze but before he could speak Jack's eyes dropped to the bag the agent still held in his hands. His blue eyes turned ice cold. "Let me see," he growled as he leapt forward.

Booth thrust the bag onto the table so that it rested between Zach's legs and then met Jack's charge. His arms circled the scientist and he held tight holding him away from the evidence of Creeps' calling card. "You know what it means, Hodgins," he said as he fought to hold him back.

Jack was smaller, but he wasn't weak and Booth was only trying to stop him from touching the evidence so, when he shoved against Booth's chest he was able to break free and stumble back. His grief was suddenly unbearable and he doubled over as he gasped for air in huge quick draws. He struggled to breathe for a moment and then his head jerked up. This time his eyes were lit with a fiery anger and he bit out the words he said with the same heat.

"I want him dead," he growled. He stood and took another step forward. He was staring at Booth with command and his voice was thick with demand. "Kill him. I'm going to find him," he continued and his voice cracked, "And when I do, you kill him."

"Hodgins…"

"I said KILL HIM!" He pointed at the body on the table. "Zach is DEAD!" he screamed. "I want this piece of shit OBLITERATED!"

The tirade brought new tears from both mourning women and Booth grew livid. "Don't you EVER ask me to do that," he answered in a low and dangerous voice.

"You've got the gun, right?" Jack spat. "Time to use it."

Booth took a step forward and shoved. Hodgins stumbled back and crashed into the equipment cabinet behind him.

"Stop it!" Brennan ordered.

Her anguished cry cut through Booth's anger and he turned to her. She chastised him even as he wrapped his arms around her and he mumbled his apology though the hug they shared. He knew he was responding to Hodgins with the same grief that prompted the demand and when he looked up his anger was gone. It was only then that he realized Hodgins was gone too.

* * *

><p>The room was empty except for the four of them. Angela and Brennan were both still crying, but it was more subdued as the truth began to sink in. Brennan's tears fell silently, slipping down her cheeks in mute sorrow. Angela made small crooning sounds over Zach's body, but she was careful not to touch him. They both hovered over his sallow form wanting to protect him even after it was no longer needed. Booth stood with them, doing nothing more than offering his support and grieving in his own way for the young life wasted in so many ways.<p>

There were cops guarding the door but they offered no objection as a badge flashed and Turner stepped into the room. Sweets followed and a small woof of sound escaped him as he took in the scene. Turner reached for his hand, concerned that he was reacting badly to what he saw, but he shook his head and squeezed her hand to let her know it wasn't himself he was worried about. The young psychologist approached and his words were spoken with the concern of a friend and not that of a therapist. "I am so sorry, Dr. Brennan."

Brennan nodded but failed to look at him. He looked to Booth who shook his head, making it clear that Brennan was not to be forced into any discussion. Sweets bobbed his head up and down and stepped back, away from the couple.

"Booth, we need to start an investigation," Brennan said. Her statement held a hint of a question and she struggled to form a more direct suggestion.

"Yeah," Booth agreed sounding just as lost as she did. "I need to question witnesses," he added.

"Let me, Boss," Turner offered. She looked at the grieving women and then back to his stricken face. "I'll get things rolling here. I can call in help if I need it and the cops have already got things locked down pretty good. You should take care of your family first."

Booth started to object, to insist that he was capable of doing his job and didn't need a rookie to fill in, but one look at Brennan's face reminded him of what was truly important. "Yeah, ok," he agreed. "Thanks, Turner. Do your very best. You know him, you know what he's capable of; we have to get him this time. He's making this personal."

Her eyes were on those gathered around Zach. "Yeah, no shit it's personal," she agreed. She gave him a brief nod and then turned toward the door to start the official investigation.

Sweets was standing between Brennan and Angela and he was speaking softly. Booth's face scowled with the worry that his words would make things worse, but there were only nods and quiet acknowledgement from the women as he finished. Stepping back as their attention returned to Zach, Sweets moved to Booth's side. There was such honest sorrow on the shrink's face that Booth immediately felt remorse for his suspicions. "How you holding up, Sweets?" he asked gently.

He received a shrug in response. "I'm ok." Sweet's head swiveled to look behind him and then he turned back and spoke quietly. "This will be hard on everyone, but I don't have to tell you both Dr. Brennan and Dr. Hodgins will take this the hardest."

"Yeah," Booth agreed with a sigh. "Bones already blames herself. This is killing her, Sweets. She loved that little weirdo more than anyone on this world."

"That might have been true once," Sweets corrected, offering a tender reminder that times had changed. Booth's hand fell on his shoulder in thanks.

"Hodgins took it bad," he warned.

"Where is he?" Sweets asked looking again for the team member he was most concerned for.

"He took off. Things got a little heated. He was really upset and he just ran out of here."

"We have to find him, Booth," Sweets said with intensity. "He was already in crisis over the string of unsolved murders. This will be more than he can handle on his own."

"Yeah, this might be more than we can all handle, Sweets."

B&B

Cam stood waiting and her leg jiggled, bouncing on the ball of her foot as she released the energy she couldn't control. She felt as if she were in a dream. Had she really gotten that phone call? It didn't seem possible that something this horrible could occur while she was home, happy and safe, with her family. The phone had rung while she was feeding Macon and she had taken the phone from Paul expecting a routine report on an incoming case. The terrible words she had heard had seemed cruelly juxtaposed with the slobbery, happy, oatmeal-filled grin of her son. How could this be true?

And then, the doors parted and she knew it was true. One look at Brennan's face made it all vividly real.

The EMTs wheeled the gurney into the lab with respectful solemnity. Booth and Brennan flanked the body and Cam's throat tightened as she realized Brennan walked holding Zach's hand.

"Dr. Saroyan!" Wendell gasped as she swayed.

He reached out to steady her but she shook her head. Forcing her spine to straighten, she tried to fend off the grief making her lightheaded.

"Maybe you should sit down," the intern worried.

"No!" She squeezed his forearm in silent thanks for his concern and then stepped forward to meet the sad procession. She knew Brennan would not budge and so she stepped to Booth's side. He retreated letting her take his place as he thanked the EMTs for their service and signed the necessary paperwork.

Her fingers shook slightly as Cam reached out. She straightened the sheet covering him as if she were tucking him in before bedtime. "Oh, Zacharoni," she breathed softly. Booth had returned and his hand caressed her back in sympathy. The touch broke the last of her control and Cam sagged against him sobbing with her sorrow.

B&B

Angela wasn't surprised to see the door ajar. She climbed from her car and stood for a moment trying to decide what she was going to say. Where there any words she could say that would be of help? Her own heart was breaking and she wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and cry her eyes out. But she knew as much as she was hurting, as devastated as she was by losing Zach, what Jack was feeling was worse. She was worried about him. He had been struggling with their inability to find Creeps. He blamed himself as every new victim was discovered. And now he would be blaming himself because they had lost someone so precious. Sighing with the realization that no answer was going to come she began to climb the steps.

It was fifteen steps to the landing above and she smiled sadly as she remembered that she knew that already. Zach had once spent twenty minutes explaining the geometry of the staircase after she asked him about the difficulty of carrying groceries upstairs. It wasn't surprising really that Jack had come here. No one stayed here and he often referred to it as Zach's' apartment, usually when he was remembering a good memory of his friend. As she neared, she heard the sound of glass breaking and she took the last few risers at a run.

Zach's old apartment was a disaster. She had been hurrying but the shock of the room's condition froze her in her tracks and she stood dumbfounded as she stared at the ransacked room. The furniture was overturned in clear evidence that Jack had vented his anger. The rubberwood dining chairs had been systematically destroyed, each bashed to pieces against their matching table which lay on its side, and chunks of the handcrafted seats littered the room. One chair leg had been used to gut the leather armchair that marked the boundary between dining and living area. The sharp end had pierced the top-grain leather of the cushion and the padding inside spilled from the wound. Another crash brought her out of her stupor and she stepped over a shattered lamp and walked into the kitchen.

This room was worse than the living room only because the large windows had offered a more spectacular mess as they were destroyed. It was a small kitchen with one wall holding the functional arrangement of appliances and cabinetry, while the opposite wall and side offered floor to ceiling windows with a panoramic view of the estate grounds. Or they had once been windows, they were now gaping holes. Shards of glass were everywhere and she wondered just how he had managed to break what she knew was tempered glass.

Turning her eyes to the deck outside the room, she found him. He leaned over the railing bent forward as he gasped for air. He looked exhausted. The glass crunched as the weight of her steps crushed it against the hardwood floor but he didn't turn to greet her. It was a beautiful day and she wished she could feel the warmth of the sun overhead through the cold darkness that surrounded them.

"Jack."

"Go away, Ange."

He still wouldn't look at her so she moved closer. "Jack, this isn't…"

"No!" he shouted, cutting her off before she could say more. He did turn now and the pain she saw brought a new level of ache to her heart. "It isn't what?" he spat fiercely. "It isn't my fault? It isn't unfair? It isn't cruel? Vindictive? A warning? He's sending a message, Angie. He's taunting me! I should have found him by now and he knows I can't!"

"You can," she tried to sooth. "We will."

"When?" he said with a cold laugh. "After he kills you? Sweets? Maybe he's really confident and he'll go after Brennan next."

"Stop!"

He fell silent and she moved closer. He didn't pull away when she touched him and she put all her love for him into the caress. "Don't let him win this way, Jack," she scolded softy. "Let's go to the lab and get to work."

"I can't," he admitted in a voice that throbbed with his pain.

"Zach would." She said it coolly, trying for all the world to sound like the calm rational tone that was the trademark of their friend. He recognized it and his head snapped up from the defeated slump in which it hung. "He wouldn't want this, Jack," she said in her own voice as she gestured to the results of his tirade. "He would tell you that you are wasting time. He would insist that the only thing that mattered was the truth and you won't find it here."

"It hurts," he admitted in a tearful whisper.

"Yeah, it does," she agreed and her own pain flared to remind her she was not done grieving. "But we have to keep moving, Jack. Zach would expect it. We owe him." She took his hand. "He's at the lab. We have to go there."

Jack didn't speak but he nodded and she led him through the apartment the crunch beneath their feet loud in the silence.

B&B

Booth rubbed his hand over his face trying to clear away the fog that clouded his thoughts. His initial shock was gone and his years of training and experience were beginning to assert themselves. They needed to get to work. Time was a factor, they had never found a Creeps' victim so soon after death and that might be important. He had lost friends before, he could move forward despite the loss. He would have to help the others do the same. He could read their inability for the next step. They had moved Zach to the autopsy room but other than that, they were at an impasse. Brennan and Cam were both frozen unwilling to leave the young genius' side and unable to do what must be done.

"We need answers," he said into the silent room.

Brennan nodded her agreement and her voice sounded thin but determined. "Yes, that is imperative." Her gaze moved to the woman at the opposite side of the gurney. "I can't provide them," she admitted.

Cam was staring down at Zach and her eyes lifted with understanding. "I…I can't," she said as her head shook. She looked at Booth in a plea for understanding. "Seeley, I can't…"

"Zach wanted his body donated to science," Brennan added, eager to deny the need for Cam's work as well. "It's too late for organ donation. If we perform an autopsy, we will negate his eligibility for a cadaver or medical research program.

"Ok, Bones," Booth soothed, concerned at the panic he heard in her voice. "What are the options? How can we find out what we need to know and still do what Zach wanted?"

"An MRI?" Wendell suggested gently. He had been standing back at a respectful distance trying to allow them their grief and still remain available. He stepped forward now and offered a solution. "It seems pretty obvious we are just confirming what we already know. Why don't I try an MRI? If it doesn't reveal what we need to know we can always have an FBI pathologist conduct an autopsy, but if we are lucky it won't be necessary."

Booth looked to Brennan for clarification and she nodded. Cam's shoulders sagged with relief and she added her approval. "It might work best. Be careful," she instructed.

"I'll be exceptionally thorough, Dr. Saroyan, I promise. I'd like to protect Dr. Addy's wishes too."

Her features twisted at the pain of her thought. "You have to find it, Wendell. He doesn't like the sound of the saw on bone. He told me that once, and…" she choked up and her tears stalled her words.

Before she could gain control and continue there was a footstep behind them and they turned to see Sweets entering. He scanned their faces openly assessing the mood and emotion he could detect. "I came to see if I can help," he said. "Have we found Hodgins?"

His question was answered as the entomologist and his wife walked into the lab. They all watched as the couple neared. Jack still looked angry but he held Angela's hand and accepted the caress of her free hand along his arm. The group gathered in Cam's workroom parted before them as they joined. Jack released the hand he held and alone he took the few steps forward to stand at Zach's side.

The silence around them was thick with anticipation as they all waited with worry. Jack stood for some time without any reaction at all. When he did finally give voice to his pain, it made them all jump. He lifted his head and a scream of guttural pain burst from his throat. He roared to the heavens as if expelling his heart and the sound was deafening. It took effort to vent such emotion and as he shouted the last of his anger he collapsed to the floor. Jack cried. The sobs of grief and remorse were unstoppable and his body shook as it was overwhelmed by his sadness.

Angela moved to comfort him but Sweets grabbed her arm. "Not just yet," he said softly. "He needs this. He needs you too, but he has to let this out."

Jack's tears were not the only ones falling and as they let the scientist and friend release the grief he had been denying they all cried.

* * *

><p>"Is Jack ok to help Wendell that way?" Cam worried as she carried her tea to the lounge sofa and sat next to Angela.<p>

"He's not really helping," Angela said as she glanced at the stairs. "He needs a chance to say goodbye and Wendell understands."

"What do you have, Turner?" Booth asked to fill the quiet that followed the idea of saying goodbye.

The young agent seemed to snap to attention as she began her report. "Dr. Addy's room was accessed at twenty-three-fifteen by use of a staff access keycard. Security reports show it was assigned to an orderly named Justin Wilkins. I sent PD to his residence and had the hospital grounds searched, but there's no sign of him."

Booth grunted. "You won't find him. I'd bet my paycheck he's dead." He caught the startled look in both Brennan and Cam's eyes and he shook his head. Reaching for Brennan's hand, he assured them both. "It's just an expression, I'm fine."

"Yeah, that was my thought too," Turner agreed moving on. "The same card was used on the door between the residential wing and treatment wing at zero-zero-five and the door to the treatment room where Dr. Addy was found at zero-zero-eight, so we have a definite timeline on when he was moved."

"Is there security footage?" Booth asked. "That place isn't exactly club med."

"Zach was moved to the green unit," Angela answered. "Security is more lax there." Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat before continuing. "It's for non-violent patients who don't pose a threat to themselves or others."

Turner nodded. "The only point on their route with active video surveillance is the treatment wing. The camera's there were rendered inoperable, but no one noticed. Security doesn't pay much attention to that feed in the middle of the night. No one is supposed to be in there."

She paused and gave a look of regret before she reported the next detail. "That room he was in; it's the electroshock therapy room."

"Electroconvulsive," Brennan corrected automatically. "That other term is no longer used."

"Right." Turner's agreement was contrite and she said her next words with regret. "The machine was set at four-hundred-fifty volts and two-point-five amps."

Sweets hissed and answered Booth's unspoken question. "That's the maximum setting. The normal therapeutic application would be about two hundred and forty volts - nowhere near that amperage."

There was a whimper from Brennan and both men turned to her. The scientist was staring straight ahead as she spoke, her body rigid as she held in what had prompted her reaction. "That setting would account for the burns at his temporal region and would support the theory that his death is the result of electrical shock."

Booth squared his jaw. He was done sitting still. "What else, Turner?"

B&B

Sweets lingered in the lounge after the others dispersed. He watched carefully as Booth and Brennan left the lab. They were on the way to ask a few questions of their own of the hospital staff. The anthropologist was still shaken especially following the call she had made to Zach's mother, but he was pleased to see a hint of her usual determination as she walked at her partner's side. She was doing better with this than he had imagined. She was leaning on Booth, allowing him to give her the emotional support she needed and it was providing the strength she needed. It had taken great effort and deep caring to make that phone call and assure Zach's mother that they were working for answers. With Booth's support, she was able to cling to the rationality she required and still feel the pain of her loss.

No, despite his early fears it was not Brennan he worried might still face a crisis. Lifting his lanky body from the railing, he squared his shoulders. He had to be careful how he approached it, but if ever there was a time for first aid this was it. Hodgins was bleeding his pain. His steps were resolute as he marched down the stairs and crossed the lab to the entomologist's office.

Jack was hunched over a work table and the glint of gold Sweets saw let him know it was the bug he was examining. "Anything?" he asked.

"Why would there be?" Jack asked. "There never is."

"I thought this time might be different."

Jack sat back. "This time is different."

"That's true." His agreement was given without inflection. "Can I get you anything, Dr. Hodgins?" he asked. "Have you eaten today?"

"No I haven't eaten," Hodgins spat as his focus returned to the bug.

"I understand if you aren't hungry," Sweets answered without responding to Jack's tone. "I brought a few things you guys can snack on while you work. I don't imagine anyone will be taking a lunch break anytime soon. They are in the lounge if you want them."

Hodgins grunted at him but seemed to appreciate that he wasn't going to force food on him. Sweets took that as a good sign. "I'm going to check in with Cam and Angela and then work up a new addendum to the profile Booth is using," he shared. "You will let me know if you need anything?" Hodgins grunted again and he realized that was all he was going to get. Pushing would do no good and he turned for the door.

"Sweets," Jack called. When the psychologist turned, he saw the defensiveness in the other man's eyes had faded slightly. "That profile," Hodgins began, "It will say that the game has changed, right? This is about us now, isn't it? About me; he's daring me."

"Daring you how?"

"I don't know! You are the shrink! Shrink him, figure it out! But don't try to convince me that going after Zach wasn't about making this personal!"

Privately he could admit that there was a possibility that was true, but he needed time to consider all the factors. And Hodgins was paranoid enough without him feeding that impulse. "I think it's always been personal for him. Everything we've seen would support that, even from the beginning. There's nothing linking the victims which tells me he chose them, all of them, for personal reasons. But I wouldn't jump to any conclusions about what those reasons are just yet, Dr. Hodgins," Sweets knew he was hedging, he just hoped it sounded rational enough to keep Hodgins from falling further into the deep end.

B&B

Booth leaned back in exhaustion as their last interview left the room. "You ok?" he asked, more concerned with Brennan's state of mind than the way this ordeal was wearing on him.

Brennan nodded and gave him a weak smile. His hand rubbed over her shoulders massaging away some of the tension he could see. She appreciated his concern and she tried to explain what she was feeling. "I need to do this. I need to determine the truth."

He wasn't surprised by that. Giving his head a little bob to recognize the reasons behind her drive, he glanced down at the notes he had taken. Turner had already spoken with the hospital staff, but there had been a few of Zach's caregivers the partners wanted to question themselves. It was a fact-finding mission, not an interrogation; they had little concern that Creeps was actually a member of the hospital team. As anticipated, their careful questions had revealed very little useful information. Zach had been a nearly model patient and the staff had been quite fond of him.

"Zach's preference for a strict schedule makes reconstructing his behavior quite systematic."

"Yeah, that's helpful."

"We should question those people who were part of his established routine."

Booth made a face. "I've never found mental patients to be reliable witnesses, Bones."

"Being a patient there does not necessarily indicate compromised reliability. Zach himself is evidence of that. Should we have ever needed to I would have trusted his testimony more readily than many 'sane' people."

Booth wondered if it was physically possible to kick himself as hard as he felt he deserved. "You are right," he said quickly taking her hand in apology. "Aw, Bones, please don't cry. I didn't mean that like it sounded."

"I know," she said accepting his apology with a sniff. "I appear to be suffering some emotional instability myself."

"Sure you are," he soothed.

The door opened and they looked up to find Caroline Julian standing in the doorway. Booth rose protectively to his feet ready to deflect any irritation the prosecutor might level away from Brennan. "Caroline, I know I blew you off yesterday and we were scheduled for today, but there is no way Bones and I can go over the Sarkin case. It will have to wait."

The usually taciturn woman nodded and waved a hand to indicate he should relax and take a seat. "I know that, Cher," she promised. "We can do that when you have time, it's not on a docket for another month so we have time. I just stopped in to tell Dr. Brennan how sorry I am for her loss."

"Thank you," Brennan answered softly. "You know, I've said those words often but I do so because Booth has taught me that they are the socially acceptable thing to say in these situations. I had never considered that they actually provide some level of comfort if you receive them."

"Small comfort," Caroline said philosophically. "I know you prefer something practical and quantitative so I'm here to tell you that if you find him, I'll make him pay. You need something to find this monster you let me know. And when you've got him, I'll make sure he pays in spades."

The fierce way she made the promise brought a smile to Brennan's lips and she smiled. "Thank you, Caroline."

"You are welcome, Temperance." She looked at Booth. "That little genius didn't deserve this. Get off your ass and get this guy."

"Yes, ma'am," Booth said as he stood. "We're on it."

The words of comfort and encouragement breathed new life into the weary partners. They discussed the information their interviews had provided as they walked to Booth's vehicle. "What we know doesn't fit," Brennan complained.

"What do you mean?"

"Zach preferred to keep himself on a schedule. He followed it diligently. Every day was the same and everything occurred at his established time, meals, therapy, exercise, study, socialization, even our visits were scheduled."

"Yeah we talked about that upstairs, Bones. It's the way Zach liked it. I'm no shrink, but I'd say it was his way of controlling what he could when his life was pretty much out of his control."

"So, how is it possible that this happened? How did someone gain his trust enough for him to allow this? Zach was exceptionally intelligent, Booth. He would not have been fooled easily."

"We've been operating under the assumption Creeps is a genius for a while now, Bones. I'd say this is just more evidence of the same. But you have to remember, as smart as Zach was he was also pretty naive, gullible even. Creeps would use that against him."

Her response went unsaid as her phone rang. She answered on speaker so Booth could hear. "Brennan."

"Wendell found it," Cam reported without preamble, her voice as professional as she could manage.

"The MRI was conclusive?"

"Yeah, I read it but any first year med student could probably see it. The shock he received was severe. The brain stem is detached from the spine."

Brennan's eyes closed and her face paled but when she spoke her voice was clear. "It is fortunate that the image is sufficient. I will make contact with the appropriate study programs to see where his body might be of most use."

"Make it a good one, Brennan," Cam said with a slight quiver in her words. "Our boy would never forgive us if it wasn't a brilliant study."

B&B

Turner stepped through the parting doors of the lab feeling a rare sense of dread. The feeling was, if she had to define it, much like the reluctance she had felt the first time she had been required to inform someone of a loved one's death. That's what this was, the death of a loved one. She hadn't known Zach Addy, but from the little she did know and what she had seen today there was no doubt this was someone who had been loved dearly. The reluctance she felt now was like that heavy dread that came as you stood on the doorstep and waited to greet whoever answered with terrible news. The difference was that when you gave that family their devastating blow, you didn't usually expect them to help you work the case. But that was what she was doing now. She was about to ask them to set aside their pain and help her solve this case. It seemed wrong and it filled her with dread.

"Hi Sweetie," Angela said. Turner looked up with surprise. She had been so lost in her own thoughts, she had failed to see the artist approach. Angela looked concerned and she touched the younger woman on the shoulder in comfort. "Are you ok?"

Turner snorted. "Shouldn't I be asking you that same question?"

"You know the answer," Angela said with a shrug. "We're doing the best we can. What about you; why the long face?"

Lifting the evidence bag in her hand Turner explained. "I found something and I need your help."

Within minutes, Angela had Cam and Jack gathered in her office and Booth and Brennan on the phone. "It's a journal," she explained following Brennan's question. "I'd say Zach wrote in it every day."

"Turner, get on it," Booth ordered. "Angela can help you."

"That might be a problem, Booth," Angela chuckled. "Have you ever tried to read Zach's handwriting? It's worse than Jack's. The computer won't be able to recognize it. I can't recognize it."

"That's true," Cam agreed quickly. "Neither one of them should ever be allowed to submit anything in writing unless they type it up."

"I'll go through it," Hodgins offered.

Angela frowned. "Are you sure, Babe?"

"I can do it," Jack insisted holding out his hand.

"Zach often left relevant notes in the margins of his work," Brennan advised. "It allowed him to capture his thoughts on other matters he might be considering at the same time and still stay on task. Pay attention to any seemingly scribbled in haste, it will have value."

"Yeah, he wrote a counterproposal to Perelman's Proof of Thurston's Geometrization Theorem on a crossword puzzle once," Jack remembered.

"Hodgins, you don't have to do this," Booth offered.

"No, I got it," Jack insisted. "I'm the only one that would know him well enough to see what's important and what's not in the journal and recognize the notations if they mean something. I can do it, Booth."

He sounded eager and as a group they realized it was his hope of finding new evidence, something they could finally use to give them a solution, which made him push through the pain of reading this particular diary.

B&B

It was getting dark before the partners returned to the lab. "Anything?" Angela asked hopefully, as they walked into her office.

"Nothing substantial," Brennan reported coolly. "The staff was cooperative, but revealed little. As expected our search of the missing orderly's residence gave no indication he is involved other than as another victim. There are a few more interviews we will conduct tomorrow. How is your search progressing?"

"If I could get through more than five minutes without crying it would go faster."

"Angela, if this is too difficult," Brennan began.

The artist cut her off. "I'm ok, Sweetie. I want to do it. It's just watching the hospital security footage is a painful reminder that Zach was living a pretty limited life. It hurts to know that is all he'll ever have."

"Yes." The single word held Brennan's complete agreement and all her pain. There was another beat of silence and then Angela turned her attention back to the monitor where the security video was displayed. Brennan gave her head a tiny shake as if to dislodge her sadness and turned to her partner. "Booth, we should begin our review of the hospital files you subpoenaed."

"Yeah, let's go I'm ready."

"Can we stay here?"

Booth had reached the door but he faced her now as she held his arm. "Sure, everything ok?"

"I would like to remain here in case Angela needs me," she whispered as she gave her friend a quick and inconspicuous look of concern.

Booth leaned in and planted a kiss to her brow. He loved that she was concerned for Angela even through her own turmoil. "It does help to be together," he agreed. Shifting the files he carried to one arm, he took her hand in his free one and they walked to Angela's sofa. In only a few moments they were hard at work and though no one said anything they all felt comforted to have the others with them.

"Anything?" The succinct question startled the three of them from their focus and they looked up to find Cam in the doorway.

"I thought you went home?" Angela asked.

"I did, but I couldn't stay. I fed Macon and gave him a bath, Paul can manage the rest of the night." She turned her head and looked in the general direction of her work room where Zach's body lay in a cold drawer. "I hate the idea of him here alone."

"Yeah," Angela agreed through a sigh.

"I'm just going to…" Cam said thumbing her hand in the direction of her thoughts. No one responded, they understood and each wondered if they should follow her example while there was still time for a few words with Zach.

There was a murmur of voices outside and then Sweets and Turner joined them. The psychologist carried several large bags and he set them on the coffee table. "We brought dinner," he informed them.

"I should get Jack," Angela said realizing they all needed to eat and Jack had not touched food or drink all day long.

"I'm right here, Angie." He was walking toward her still reading the journal he carried. When he looked up there were tears in his eyes. He scanned the faces watching him and he gave them a wry smile. "You want to hear something?"

"You found something?" Booth asked quickly.

Jack shook his head. "Not like that. But," he chuckled just a little, "it's kind of awesome." He sat and Angela propped herself on the arm of the chair wrapping her arm around his shoulders. Jack took a deep breath and shared what had his attention. "Zach wrote this about a year ago, it was right after we got back from Paris."

"_Hodgins came to see me today. I am relieved to learn he intends to resume our weekly meetings. I had missed them while he was abroad. Video chats are no substitute for a personal visit. He tells me his year in Paris with Angela was most exceptional. Actually, the words he used were 'excruciating bliss' which I think was a veiled reference to their sexual activity. I'm certain that was a satisfactory component of their trip. Angela's personality suggests an affinity for physical pleasure and given the stories Hodgins likes to share about his past I believe his sexual confidence is equivalent to that of a much taller man." _

Booth snorted and Hodgins had to pause as he both chuckled and sniffed at his tears. The entomologist cleared his throat and continued. _"The devotion of my former colleagues still puzzles me. Hodgins continues to be the best friend I've ever had. Dr. Brennan shared much of her research on the Maluku project yesterday and promised to bring more on her next visit. The others were all away this past year, but the birthday cake Cam brought to share on my thirtieth birthday was a nice surprise and reminded me that despite my mistakes my friends still love me. The release of oxytocin in females and vasopressin in males is thought to be most directly responsible for feelings of bonding and attachment. Given the way they continue to support me, I wonder if the others suffer from elevated levels of those hormones?"_

"It's just so Zach," Jack said with a soft chuckle. He spoke as he wiped his tears with the back of his hand and then he looked up still smiling. "It's Zach."

* * *

><p>When the alarm clock rang, Booth rolled to silence it. They had worked very late and he still felt the need for several more hours of sleep. That groggy feeling fled quickly when he realized there was an empty pillow beside him. He rolled again until his feet hit the floor and then he stumbled down the hall to look for her.<p>

Brennan was in the kitchen already dressed for the day. He worried that meant she had not slept at all and he approached determined to cautiously assess how she was doing. "Morning, beautiful," he greeted her as he neared.

Brennan turned and the smile she gave him was sincere but shallow, coming from the surface of her grief. "If you would ready quickly, I would appreciate it. I'd like to follow up on the information Hodgins found in the journal."

"Ok," he agreed. "But can we talk for just a minute?" He was close now and his arms slid around her waist. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Booth. Please stop asking me that." Her hands slid over his bare arms to take any sting from her words.

"Did you sleep?"

She shrugged. "A little." He pulled her into a hug and she let him. When her head rested on his shoulder, she closed her eyes and sighed. It felt good to have him hold her. "I was happy to see you were able to sleep. I envied your ability to do so."

"Experience," he explained without letting her go. "I've lost enough buddies and still had to keep moving."

"So, necessity allows you to fall asleep like that? You were able reach your R.E.M. cycle rather quickly."

"I know a few tricks."

"Like what?"

"Good thoughts for one. I focus on something besides the pain; allow my mind to set aside the dark thoughts."

"What did you think about?" she asked suddenly dying to know. Their daily sharing of secrets had nurtured her need to know everything about him and she was instantly curious about this skill of his.

"You and coffee."

She lifted her head, her crinkled brow a clear sign she was confused. He was wearing the kind of smirk she thought she recognized. "Do you find that sexually alluring?"

"Originally I found it annoying as hell."

"I don't understand."

His arms tightened around her waist and his smile held a fondness that reflected how much he treasured this particular secret. "Have you ever watched yourself with a cup of coffee, Bones?"

"Why would I do that?"

He had to chuckle at the incredulousness of her question. "Well, you wrap your hand around the cup. They have handles you know, but you don't use them. You choke up on that thing like you are going to bunt." He paused when he saw her confusion. "You hold it high and tight," he expounded. "And then when you drink you stick half the rim in your mouth and only take a sip."

"And that annoys you?"

"Seven years ago it annoyed the shit out of me."

"But it doesn't now?"

"Somewhere along the line I realized it was one of those things."

"What things?"

"The things that make you you. The little quirks and bits of squintiness that make you the adorable, sexy, highly intelligent woman who stole my heart."

"Booth?"

She looked ready to cry again and he worried his effort to help had backfired. "What's wrong, Bones?"

She shook her head. "I want to say thank you. Thank you for the support you have given me. I don't know that I could process my thoughts and feelings regarding Zach's death without your help. I…thank you."

He brushed his lips with hers and then dropped his head so their foreheads touched. "Good and bad, no matter what, I'm there Bones. I love you. I will always be here for you."

"I know." What made Booth smile was that he could hear the truth in her words.

B&B

The discovery of Zach's journal provided them with details of his life inside the hospital. It was comforting to know he had forged ahead, living life as best he could, but it was also sad to know there was so much of his life of which they were unaware. "Did you know he was sleeping with that girl?" Booth whispered as the partners walked away from their third patient interview.

"He told me there was a woman he enjoyed spending time with. I did not realize it was a sexual relationship." Brennan looked over her shoulder at the young woman they had left sitting on the garden bench. "She is quite attractive. While her average intelligence would have been a burden to Zach, I can see how he would enjoy her company. She was very nice."

"She's crazy," Booth reminded her. "I know because she lives here."

Brennan shrugged as if that fact was of little importance. "I'm just happy to know Zach had someone to care for him."

Booth gave her a contrite look. "You're right. That is nice to know."

"Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, how are the interviews going?" The question came from Susan Harris, the nursing supervisor for the wing in which Zach had resided. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Everything is fine," Booth assured her. "The staff has been very helpful and the patients have cooperated fully."

"Well, Dr. Addy was well liked by his fellow residents. He had a very kind heart and everyone appreciated that about him. And honestly, the staff is in a bit of a panic that this happened at all. We want to do anything we can to help."

"There is one person of interest we have been unable to locate," Brennan said just a bit gruffly. She wasn't trying to be rude, but hearing the other woman speak of Zach's gentle nature had made her misty eyed and she wanted to move on before she was crying in front of strangers. "Zach had several journal entries where he referenced a man named Ben."

Nurse Harris cocked her head as she considered the name. "I don't think we have a Ben, Dr. Brennan. Do you have any further details?"

"You must," Brennan insisted. "Zach met with him several times. They would meet at the bench in the shade near the koi pond. Zach found him to be an intelligent companion."

"Where is the koi pond?" Booth asked. They had walked all over the grounds and he didn't recall seeing it.

"You can't see it from here," Harris explained. "It's just past that row of rose bushes over there. The path curves to the left and the pond lies beneath those trees."

"Seems pretty far away from the building," Booth noted. "You let patients wander that far?"

"Not all, Agent Booth. But, despite his reason for being here with us, Dr. Addy was considered a low risk patient. He was free to come and go almost anywhere on the property as long as he followed the rules."

"Did he?"

"After you convinced him to stop taking his unauthorized day trips he never broke a single rule."

Booth smiled at that memory. They had had to talk fairly fast to convince Zach that he couldn't just break out of the hospital whenever he wanted to. "So him meeting with someone at the pond would not be unusual?"

"He often sat there. He liked to feed the fish."

"It would really help if we could speak to this Ben person."

Harris frowned. "I'm sorry, I can check the records, but I don't know any patient by that name. Do you have any other information?"

"Only that he was intelligent enough for the conversation to hold Zach's attention," Brennan answered, "And he wore a hat."

"Ah," the nurse said with a slow nod of recognition. "I think he was speaking with Mr. Curry."

"Ben Curry?" Booth asked as he made a notation on his index card.

"No, Franklin Curry."

"I don't understand," Brennan declared with a frown.

"Mr. Curry is our resident with dissociative identity disorder."

Booth shook his head. "What's that?"

"Multiple personalities," Brennan supplied. "A diagnosis which only exemplifies the unreliability of the science of psychology."

"It is a much misunderstood condition," Harris agreed without really agreeing. "I could check his record, but I do believe one of Franklin's six known alters is a man named Ben. I should have considered that possibility immediately. Dr. Addy was known to engage Franklin in discussion. I believe he found the mystery of who he would speak with to be of fascinating interest."

"Well, could we speak with him?" Booth asked suddenly remembering why he didn't like mental patients for witnesses.

B&B

"Hey, guys."

"Hi, Sweets," Angela answered with an aching smile. She was seated on her couch next to Hodgins and working from a laptop as he puzzled over one of the notes in the margin of Zach's journal. "If you are looking for Turner she was here, but she left already."

"Yeah…no; she's working on the missing orderly, I know that. I came by to see how everyone is doing."

"We're ok," the artist answered for both of them. Jack's eyes lifted for only a second and his glare announced that the question should not come to him directly.

Sweets ignored the look and focused on the team member who would speak without misplaced anger. "Were you able to get some sleep?"

"Not much, but some," Angela admitted. "We gave up about five o'clock. We got out of bed and came in to get back to work. We did stop at the diner for breakfast though," she added knowing it would be the younger man's next question.

"That's good," he approved. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Pull a bastard, crazy serial killer out of your back pocket," Hodgins growled without looking up.

"That would be nice wouldn't it?"

Sweet's mild agreement and refusal to rise to Hodgins' bait made the scientist scowl. He was looking for a fight, "What kind of psycho-babble, idiotic question is that?"

"Dr. Hodgins, your anger is expected and justified. Just don't let it prevent you from maintaining some semblance of logical thought."

Hodgins scoffed, "Yeah, I'll be sure to keep my eye on that."

Sweets turned and looked at Angela. She smiled sadly,

"The two of us are doing as well as can be expected. We'll call you if we need you." She walked toward the door, guiding the psychologist from the room.

Sweets went but as she stood blocking the doorway, he insisted on having the final word. "His expression of anger is healthy," he advised. "Try to illicit some other reactions though, even if it's tears."

"There have been plenty of those," Angela assured him.

Sweets nodded, accepting that Angela would be concerned enough to monitor her husband's emotional status. "Call me if you need me."

"Thanks, Sweets."

Angela kissed his cheek with gratitude and he felt his face pinking with a blush. Scolding himself that these people would never treat him like an adult if he didn't stop reacting like a kid, he moved on to his next patient. Cam sat at her desk, the phone to her ear and when he realized she was occupied he froze. She waved him in and he silently crossed the room and took the seat opposite as he waited. Cam said very little making only small affirmations as she responded to what was being said on the other end of the line. After several moments, the call ended and Cam carefully replaced the receiver on the phone base. Still silent she lowered her head catching her face in her hands as she slumped forward, elbows on her desk, and her shoulders drooping.

"Dr. Saroyan?" Sweets called with concern.

Cam didn't lift her head but she spoke. "That was the office of Zach's personal accountant."

"Zach had an accountant?"

"Apparently, if you don't spend your salary on things like clothes, women or stylish haircuts, and your mom continues to send you a monthly allowance, and you get put away in a mental care facility and leave your bank account to be invested by an accountant your billionaire best friend recommends, you can build up a tidy sum." Her face rose from her hands and she looked as Sweets. "Zach left his money to Macon as an educational trust fund."

"That was very thoughtful."

The tears sparkling in Cam's eyes slipped down her cheek. "Yes it was."

"You ok?" Booth called from the doorway concerned for the tears he could see.

"Yeah," the coroner promised as she swiped her eyes dry her fingers careful not to smudge her makeup. "I'll explain later. What did you find?"

"Nothing much," he reported without disguising his disappointment. "I don't know if that journal is going to be helpful or not. So far all we've managed is a nice chat with Zach's chess buddy, his girlfriend and the nuttiest nut in the nuthouse."

"Booth," Sweets scolded when he heard that characterization.

"Yeah, sorry," the agent apologized. "By the way, thanks for the addendum to the profile. Keep working it. Eventually we'll find something that will give us what we need."

"I just wish I could do more." Sweets jammed his hands in his pocket and gestured with his head toward Brennan's office, "How is she really doing?"

Booth's shoulders became rigid and his jaw tight, "She's holding it together."

"I think I should talk with her."

Booth held up his hand in protest, "No. Not a chance, not right now. I know you think you're helping and sometimes you do but most of the time you just annoy the hell out of her and she can't handle that right now."

"But I-"

"No. Trust me on this. Leave it alone, Sweets. We are dealing with it. Together, me and Bones; we've got this."

Sweets' mouth twitched but he didn't voice further objection or his hurt at the refusal. "Just let me know if you need me, ok?"

"You'll be my first call," Booth promised as he left the room.

B&B

"Wake up, Mitchel; it's time for your medicine."

"Wallace, please," the man lying on the floor begged. "Don't do this."

"Don't do this?" he scoffed. "Everything I have done has been in preparation for this moment, Mitchel. I assure you I am most certainly going to do this. I have tortured and killed and yes I enjoyed every moment of it, but it was not done for my own enjoyment. I murdered those people because they deserved it. I murdered them because with each success I grew better prepared to kill you."

"You are crazy, Wallace."

"I most certainly am not. Do you not see this for what it is, Mitchel? This is retribution. This is justice!"

Mitch tried to avoid it but the needle effortlessly pierced his sweating skin and he felt the now familiar burn as the poison entered his system. "Promise me," he hissed as he fought to control the way his mouth watered uncontrollably. He reached out the scales of his shedding skin hanging from his hand as it closed around his captor's arm. "Promise me you won't hurt Joanna."

"I love my wife," he answered. "I would never harm her."

"Fine, kill me then," Mitch mumbled as the medication pushed him back toward unconsciousness.

"Oh, I am," he answered. "And I'm quite enjoying it."

* * *

><p>"There is enough food here to feed an army." Angela estimated as she returned to the group with her plate loaded to overflowing. "Which is good," she added as she looked around the crowd gathered in the Addys' Michigan home, "Because that's how many people are here."<p>

"That's what people do at a funeral," Booth said with a shrug. "You bring food. And a big family like this means plenty of mouths to feed."

"It's not a funeral," Brennan objected. "Zach's body remains at Johns Hopkins."

"The rules apply to memorial services too, Bones," he explained patiently.

"I've been impressed with the way Zach's family accepted his wish to leave his body to science. I had anticipated a reluctance to the idea, especially from his mother." Sweets was watching the group near the window which consisted of Zach's mother, two sisters and his eldest brother. "When I spoke to her Mrs. Addy was grateful for the assistance in the matter."

"Of course we helped," Brennan said, "That's what family does."

Booth was holding her hand and he squeezed it in agreement. "She's taking this all pretty well, including that bomb you dropped on us, Sweets."

The psychologist flinched. "I can't apologize enough for that, but you have to know that I didn't keep it from you by choice. I understand if it takes some time for you guys to forgive me."

"Forgive you? Forgive you for not telling me my best friend wasn't a killer?" Jack asked. "Even when I sat in your office so angry that I hated the whole world?"

"I couldn't," Sweets said defensively.

Jack let it go and allowed Angela to pull him back against the seat where he sat next to her. "I get it, Sweets," he said more gently. "Doctor-Patient, code of ethics, mumbo jumbo; I get it."

"You did what you had to do, Sweets," Booth said reassuringly. "We know that."

"We should thank you for protecting him," Brennan added. "You are correct that he would not have fared well if sent to a standard criminal institution. I, for one, am grateful that his mistake did not lead him there."

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan."

Further discussion of the secret Sweets had revealed was stalled as the man Sweets had identified as Zach's eldest brother moved to the center of the room. He cleared his throat and tapped his wedding ring against his glass to call those gathered around to silence. "Thank you all for coming," he began when he had everyone's attention. "If you don't recognize me, I'm Michael Addy I'm the oldest of the boys. On behalf of my family, I want to thank you all for coming. At this terrible time we appreciate the love and support found in your comfort."

He took a shuddering breath as his emotion threatened his control. "I promised myself I wouldn't cry," he joked. "Zach would tell me I was being irrational. I always hated it when he did that, so I vowed it wouldn't happen today. Guess he's going to win our last argument."

He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and cleared his throat. "Zach was the youngest," he continued when he could. "He was the most special. He was smarter than all the rest of us put together. And, oh my Lord, could that boy sing. He didn't always understand the people around him, but we didn't mind. He was Zach and we loved him."

Michael's smile appeared, sad and tender, and then he laughed gently at the memory he was about to share. "I remember the first time I knew Zach was going to be a scientist. He was nine years old. I was going fishing and he wanted to come along. Normally I didn't let him, because Zach's idea of fishing was to 'observe their behavior' which usually resulted in falling into the water and scaring them all away. But, he really wanted to go so I gave in and took him along. We were there about an hour and by some miracle, I convinced him it would be more entertaining to observe rabbits instead of fish. So, he roamed around in the field behind me and I got in some good casts from the riverbank."

He chuckled harder now and then continued. "About that time, Zach let out a whopper of a holler so I dropped my pole and went running to find out what was wrong. Turns out, he'd moved from rabbits to insects and stirred up a bee hive. He got stung. So, I'm trying to calm him and he's bawling and I'm worried about what kind of trouble I'll be in for letting him get hurt. And then I figured out he wasn't crying because he was hurt. He was crying because he thought the bee was going to die. Turns out, he'd just read some article in some junior science magazine about something called 'colony collapse disorder'. That's where all the bees in a hive just up and disappear. Apparently, it is a bit of a problem and Zach was worried that he was making the issue worse by letting the bee sting him and die."

There was a chuckle from the crowd gathered as they all enjoyed the tale. Hodgins, however, was not smiling. He jumped to his feet and dashed from the room, tripping over the corner of the small table at Angela's side as he hurried away.

His wife started to rise but Booth stopped her. "Let me try, Ange," he offered. "Sometimes, it's easier to talk to another guy." She nodded, the worry in her eyes as clear as her desperation to help her husband.

Booth told himself he shouldn't be surprised when Sweets joined him. He wasn't going to start an argument in the middle of Michael's remarks, but he lifted an eyebrow as they moved to the door.

"What? I'm a guy," Sweets argued softly. "He can talk to two guys."

The Addy home was large, a fact that seemed natural given the size of their brood, and the two men wandered through the empty rooms searching for their friend. They found Hodgins in the bedroom where the guests' coats were piled atop a bed. He stood at the window with his head bowed and his body tense.

"Hodgins," Booth called, now grateful Sweets was there if the entomologist was already in emotional collapse. He was startled when Jack turned his head bent not in grief but in concentration as he flipped frantically through the pages looking for something. "Hodgins, what are you doing? You rushed out in the middle of a eulogy for more reading?"

Hodgins held up his hand to silence the questions and continued to search. He found what he was looking for and he snatched up the book to read the passage carefully. "He did it."

The words had come out in a mumble almost too soft to hear. "What?" Booth asked.

"Zach had the answer," Hodgins said and he gasped as tears splashed on the book he held. "King of the lab, little buddy," he whispered.

"Dr. Hodgins," Sweets said, unable to still his professional concern.

Hodgins slammed the book closed hard enough that the snap made the other two men react with a start. For the first time he looked at them and his tears and his grief were gone. In their place was an intensity that burned with white-hot hate and cold victory. "I know who the son of a bitch is."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Who is Creeps McGee? Find out next week in part one of the season finale, The Thrill in the Victory by NatesMama, Squinttoyou and Brainysmrfs.<strong>_


	20. The Thrill in the Victory

6.5x20: The Thrill in the Victory by NatesMama and Squinttoyou

"Please state your full name and designation for the record."

"FBI Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth, SSA."

"Thank you. This is FBI Special Agent David Mills, Internal Affairs Division, today is Tuesday, May 29, 2011 and I am conducting the debrief of SSA Seeley Booth. Also present are Special Agent William Somerset, IAD, and FBI Certified Court Reporter Michelle Dailey." Agent Mills cleared his throat before nodding towards a stoic Booth sitting at the opposite side of the table. "Agent Booth, would you please recount, to the best of your ability, the events of May 25, 2011?"

Booth swallowed thickly and looked up at the ceiling of the conference room as if trying to remember where to start. The truth of the matter was, he could recall every single thing that had happened since Hodgins had figured out who the man they had taken to calling Creeps McGee really was. It was impossible for Booth to stop the visuals from running through his head, over and over, like a sick replay of a really bad horror movie.

"While my team and I were in Michigan for the memorial service for Dr. Zack Addy, Dr. Jack Hodgins discovered evidence in Dr. Addy's journals that led him to the identity of the serial killer we had been tracking since the murder of Alice Fernley."

"And that man was Wallace Benjamin Fitz?"

"Yes." Booth was secretly relieved he didn't have to say the man's name.

"How was he apprehended?"

"He wasn't." Booth shook his head, disbelieving still. "He just…showed up at the Hoover and turned himself in."

Agent Mills tipped his head sideways. "He just walked in the front door?"

"Apparently so." Booth didn't elaborate.

"You don't seem too upset about that, Agent Booth."

Booth released a humorless laugh. "My job would be a hell of a lot easier if every suspect just waltzed through the front doors, so…no. I'm not the least bit upset."

Mills looked to his partner, indicating that Somerset should take over the interview. The agents shared a bit of visual shorthand, a trick that told Booth the two IA agents had been partners for a very long time.

"Agent Booth, where were you when Mr. Fitz showed himself at FBI headquarters?"

Booth smiled. "I was at home."

"Your home?"

"My apartment, yes."

"Alone?"

"I don't believe that is any of your business."

Somerset shook his head. "Agent Booth, if you are not going to cooperate…"

Booth sat forward, palms flat on the table top. "I am cooperating fully. And I am more than happy to tell you, step-by-step, what happened in that interrogation room, and whatever else is important to this review. But my personal life doesn't relate to the incident, and it's off limits. End of discussion." He leaned back again, arms crossed defensively across his chest.

"When the interrogation began, who was in the observation room?"

Booth, thrown by the abrupt change in topic, took a moment to respond. "Dr. Lance Sweets and Special Agent Claudia Turner, both of whom assisted in the investigation in tandem with the Jeffersonian."

"And where was your partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan?"

Booth hid another smile. "Dr. Brennan was at the Jeffersonian, with the rest of our team, assembling the evidence we had collected in relation to the serial killings we now know were committed by the suspect."

"And were you wearing an earpiece?"

"No, I was not."

"Why?"

"Because…" Booth sighed inwardly. "I like to go into the room alone, get a feel for the suspect. I can watch their eyes, their movements, listen to their voice. It helps me to see if they're being honest. I need that internal evaluation for myself, before I have someone else buzzing in my ear."

Agent Somerset made a noncommittal noise as he shuffled some papers. "And did you get a response of any kind from Mr. Fitz?"

"Not at first, no."

Agent Mills chimed in. "What was his demeanor?"

Booth finally uncrossed his arms and sat up. "He was a pain in the ass, if I'm being honest. For the first hour, he didn't do much more than sit there, across the table and stare."

"Much more? So he did speak?"

"Not so much."

"What did he say, Agent Booth?" Mills asked.

Booth shifted in his chair, obviously uncomfortable. "He, uh…said that I was not intelligent enough to interrogate him."

Both agents nodded. "And how did you respond?"

"I didn't. I ignored his comments and continued the interrogation."

The question and very-short-answer dance continued for over an hour, the frustration from the IA agents more than matching Booth's irritation as they volleyed back and forth. Finally deciding that a break was in order, Agent Mills offered to get Booth something to drink and was turned down with a silent head shake, and both IA investigators moved to leave and give Booth some time to regroup.

When he was finally alone, Booth leaned back in his seat and rubbed his hands across his face, trying to find some clarity. The entire situation, from the moment Fitz walked into the vestibule at the Hoover, right up until Booth walked out of the interrogation room following a sheet-covered gurney had been nothing but a tangled mess. Knowing that what happened wasn't his fault hadn't been able to wash away the bitter, metallic taste of utter failure that he had been trying to get rid of for days.

"_You know, I have all day here. Nowhere to go, nothing to do…so you can just sit there, if you want" Booth leaned back and bracketed his hands behind his head. He hid the annoyance he was feeling at his complete lack of response from Fitz and smiled charmingly. "Can I get you anything? Water? Sandwich? Breath mint?"_

_Fitz returned Booth's smile, but with a slight glint of malice to it. "Actually, Agent Booth…you can tell me about your partner."_

_Booth's grin slipped slightly. "My partner is busy cataloguing the evidence to put you away for a very long time."_

"_Oh, I highly doubt that." He linked his fingers together and rested them on his stomach, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "There isn't any evidence to be had. Although…"_

"_Although…?" Booth prompted._

_Fitz sighed dramatically. "If anyone could find evidence, not that there is any, it would be your brilliant…partner." His eyebrows rose on the last word, implication clear and hanging between the two men like a palpable fog._

"_She is brilliant. But we're not here-"_

"_So maybe you can tell me what on Earth such an accomplished, brilliant, intelligent, cultured woman is doing with a meathead cop like you." Fitz watched with amusement as Booth poorly covered his scowl. "I mean, really…judging by the bored-as-sin look on your face during the lecture on human osteology and funerary archaeology you attended with Dr. Brennan last weekend at American."_

"_You were stalking us?" Booth stood and pushed his chair back roughly, unconcerned when it slammed against the wall behind him._

_The other man didn't so much as twitch at Booth's sudden anger. "Not at all, it was simply a coincidence that you both happened to be at the same lecture I was attending."_

"_A coincidence."_

"_Of course. Why else would I have been there?"_

"_That's one hell of a coincidence."_

"_You keep saying that, Agent Booth. Do you not understand the meaning of the word, or are you simply confused as to the correct grammatical usage?"_

_Booth ground his teeth, jaw locked tight. He turned and faced the observation mirror, taking slow, deep breaths to get himself under control. In fifteen years of being an FBI agent, he couldn't remember another suspect that could find and push all the exact right buttons that would set him off with such ease. He could see Fitz in the mirror's reflection, smirking at his back, and he took one more cleansing breath before turning back around._

"_So, Fitz…did you stalk all of your victims? Or did you just follow us because you were slipping and you knew we were getting close to catching you?" The chuckle that followed caused Booth to dig his nails into his palm to prevent him from doing something stupid he knew he would regret. _

"_Agent Booth, I explained, very clearly, that I was simply attending a lecture. Nothing more. I don't know how I can possibly explain it any clearer." He shook his head in mock regret. "Would you like me to speak slower? Or, better yet, bring that beautiful partner of yours in here and I'll have her translate for you."_

_Booth slammed his palms down on the table, once again drawing no reaction from Fitz. "You need to be careful what you say, Fitz. Very careful."_

"_Oh, Agent Booth…I assure you I am always very careful." He smiled. "I'm sure, if I ever leave this room, I could show your Dr. Brennan just how very careful I can be."_

Booth was pulled from his reverie by the sound of Agent Mills throwing a file onto the table with a smack. "Have some time to get your thoughts together, Agent Booth?"

"No reason to, Agent Mills. You ask the questions, I answer them. Nothing complicated about that."

Mills smiled. "Good to know you understand the concept." He cleared his throat and looked down at his notes. "So, you stated earlier than Dr. Brennan was at the Jeffersonian when the suspect was being interrogated. Is that unusual, not having your partner in the room with you?"

"Not at all."

"Was this by her choice, or by yours?"

"We agreed that it was more important for her to be with her people, gathering the evidence to put Fitz away if we couldn't get a confession." An uncomfortable feeling bubbled up from the pit of his stomach at the current line of questioning, a feeling reinforced as the questions about Brennan continued.

"And the fact that the two of you were engaged in a sexual relationship didn't have anything to do with…oh, let's call it the 'separation of church and state'?"

"No."

The agent waited for Booth to elaborate, and when nothing else was forthcoming, he pressed forward. "Were your superiors aware that you were sleeping with your partner?"

"Yes."

"And they were alright with that…development?"

"Apparently."

Mills sighed. "Alright. So, after Mr. Fitz insinuated that your partner was more welcome in the room than you, you chose not to bring her in? Even though you were getting nowhere with him?"

Booth leaned forward. "I explained what my reasoning was, at the time. Dr. Brennan was doing her job at the lab."

"But you did decide that you needed assistance with the interrogation."

"Not…assistance, exactly. Another perspective."

Eyebrows raised, Mills leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled over his chest. "And from whom did you decide to get that perspective?"

"Special Agent Claudia Turner."

B&B

Booth ran a hand through his hair and looked around the bar, inwardly amazed that the other patrons looked so carefree and happy when everything around him was in such disarray. He glanced down into his drink, having lost count two drinks ago, and contemplated the events of the last week. From the moment Brennan had received the phone call about Zack, until the second Booth himself walked out of Interrogation Room Four, much of what happened was a blur. A painful, frustrating, gut twisting blur.

He gestured to the bartender for a refill on his scotch, and returned the drink offering with a tight smile. As he took a sip and let the smokiness of the liquor slide over his tongue, he continued to think back on what he could have possibly done differently, all the while hearing Bones in his head telling him that his insistence on reliving the incident over and over again served no logical purpose. Any other day or time, having Bones in his head would be a comfort, but this time her calm, rational voice only made him realize just how completely irrational and illogical the situation had become. And for someone like Booth, who needed complete control in order to function (and he ignored the fact that he gave Bones a hard time for having that exact same trait), the feeling of not being able to get a handle on what had happened was akin to jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. With a resigned sigh, Booth drained his drink and once again signaled the bartender, this time asking for

a glass of water. He was already half in the bag as it was, and if he had any chance at all of moving

forward at this point, getting hammered was the last thing he needed to do. If anything, he knew he

needed to be clear-headed…not for himself, but for the rest of the team.

Time after time, year after year, fate had kept handing their tight-knit group one test after another.

Tests of their individual strength, tests of their belief in each other, tests of faith in their team as a whole.

And each time, they had risen to the occasion and had come out even stronger on the other side.

And no matter what he had to do or say or sacrifice of himself, Booth was determined that this would not be the one thing that finally broke them.

* * *

><p>Cam turned her wrist, watching her drink swirl inside the glass. It was mesmerizing to watch the dark liquid twirl inside, fascinating to focus on the ice spinning on its own axis inside the swirl like two tiny planets. It was hypnotic in its simplicity. Simple, she thought as her wrist stopped and she watched the booze continue to spin. She needed something simple. She lifted the glass and took a sip welcoming the bite of the alcohol on her throat. Setting the glass down she gave it another spin and watched the whole thing turn.<p>

Could it have gone another way? It seemed like that should have been possible, but even now, days later, she still couldn't find that moment when they could have stopped it. That was the absurdity. It was always going to go this way. No matter what they had done, it would have ended with the same shocking outcome.

Recognizing that fact left her feeling angry and strangely empty, frustrated by the impotence. And it wasn't just her. She knew they were all struggling with it. Her eyes darted to Booth who sat next to her lost in his own reflection. This was on him. This could make or break his career. And yet as important as that was, she knew it was only part of his concern. What he was truly concerned with was the same thing she wondered. With this kind of awful resolution could they, as a team, move on from this?

This team did good work together. Since their return a year ago they had done some amazing work. But, could they pick up the pieces and move forward after this? They had faced difficulties before but never something like this. This was new and uniquely troubling. There would be no satisfaction, no sense of accomplishment. They had solved eight, no nine murders, she corrected. And yet there was no satisfaction. She took another drink and corrected herself again. There had been one moment. One bright, surprised moment when they had felt victory. Once again setting down her drink her mind moved back to Friday morning when, for just a moment, it had seemed this would end as they wished.

Fridays usually began with some promise, the anticipation of weekend possibilities almost palpable, and last Friday had been no different.

"_Don't you two get enough of that at home?" she remembered complaining when she entered Angela's office and found the artist and her husband in a very serious kiss. _

"_You'd think so, but no not really," Hodgins answered without releasing his hold on his wife. _

"_Let's call it an early start to our weekend," Angela joked. "Jack is taking me to Mexico."_

_Cam lifted an eyebrow. "Nice. What's the occasion?"_

"_No occasion," Hodgins answered. "Other than I love my wife."_

_Cam gave him an indulgent smile. She wasn't going to chastise them further. This was the happiest she had seen him in weeks. She knew Angela was working hard to ease the pain and frustration he felt following Zack's murder and she certainly wasn't going to do anything to hamper those efforts. "I stopped in to give you these," she said offering Angela a pair of photographs of Macon._

_Angela cooed in approval as she took the pictures. "Cam, he gets more beautiful every day."_

"_He is pretty special," she agreed. _

_Angela looked up to respond in agreement and saw Brennan hurrying past her door. "Bren! Sweetie, come look at Cam's new baby pictures!" Brennan appeared in the doorway and the artist quickly forgot about the photographs. "Ok, I think my day is starting better than yours. Sweetie, is everything ok?"_

"_My day started very well, thank you," Brennan answered. "Unfortunately, a call Booth received a short while ago has eliminated any post-orgasmic euphoria I might have carried into my work day."_

_Cam and Angela shared a silent grin. Some things about Brennan never grew old. "Must have been some phone call," Angela joked. _

_Brennan's face showed her confusion and the others began to lose their light humor. "Dr. Brennan, is there something we should know?" Cam asked in the kind of professional tone she knew would sooth the anthropologist's nerves._

_Brennan nodded and took a deep breath. "I am uncertain why this would occur, but Wallace Fitz entered the Hoover building this morning and voluntarily surrendered."_

"_What?" The gasp came almost simultaneously from those listening to her and Brennan nodded in affirmation. _

"_He just walked in and gave up?" Jack pressed._

"_That is my understanding."_

_Angela squealed with delight and Cam very nearly did the same. Hodgins grabbed his wife and spun her around before planting a noisy kiss to her cheek. But the celebration lasted only a moment before the questions began to insist on answers._

"_It doesn't make sense," Angela wondered aloud. "Why turn himself in? We didn't have a solid lead. The FBI reported just yesterday that despite contacting his lawyer they didn't have anything to go on."_

"_It was only a matter of time," Cam insisted clinging to the euphoria of success. "Cops don't give up when they know who they are looking for."_

"_Ange is right," Hodgins insisted shaking his head. "I don't like it. He's up to something."_

"_What can he do from inside an interrogation room?" Angela scoffed. "They have him."_

"_So you think he'll just confess?"_

_Angela shrugged and looked to Brennan. The scientist also shrugged. "Booth could not tell me what to expect. He said he would call."_

"_I don't like this," Hodgins murmured._

The wait had seemed interminable, Cam remembered. Without discussing it each of them had begun to work on some portion of the evidence against Creeps. It was old news, they had gone over it a million times, but doing one more examination felt more productive than simply waiting for Booth's call. And when he did call that sense of trepidation they were feeling only grew worse.

"_Well?" Cam demanded as Brennan set down her phone. The others had heard the ring and were clustered around her desk waiting for word on what was happening. _

"_Did he confess?" Angela asked impatiently. _

"_No." Brennan puzzled silently over the information she had learned before continuing. "He has made no statement at all."_

"_So he's just sitting there?"_

"_He has given Booth few answers and those he does provide are more antagonistic in nature."_

"_He's playing a game," Hodgins growled. _

"_That may be accurate," Brennan agreed. "Booth says he has tried a variety of interrogation techniques and none have resulted in a satisfactory outcome. He continues to try."_

"_Yeah, but they still have him. He's in custody, right?" Angela worried. _

"_Yes, but they have to make it stick," Cam explained. "That's what he's doing isn't it?" she said looking to Brennan. "He knows our evidence is shaky. He's challenging us to actually prove a link between him and those murders."_

"_The evidence is circumstantial at best," Brennan agreed. _

"_I am NOT," Jack shouted making all three women jump, "Not letting him walk out of there."_

"_Jack," Angela said reaching for him. "He's not going to get away."_

"_I believe Cam is correct," Brennan said with regret. "He is challenging us."_

"_Why do you say that Sweetie?"_

"_Because he offered to give Booth a DNA sample."_

_The statement shocked them all and for a very long moment there was silence. _

"_You think he knows we have a partial sample?" Cam wondered. _

"_If he does I presume he also knows it is damaged and inconclusive," Brennan guessed. _

"_I don't care," Hodgins spat tapping his finger on Brennan's desk with insistence. "We're going to get that DNA sample and we are going to prove he's the guy. I'm telling you, Wallace Fitz is Creeps McGee!"_

"_We know that, Hodgins," Cam answered. _

_Brennan's answer was far more objective and it cut them all to the quick. "But we must prove it." _

The words still rang in her head. We must prove it. Four days later they still sounded as urgent and as vital as when Brennan had said them. Cam lifted her drink and took another sip. She swirled the liquid over her tongue letting it coat her taste buds before she swallowed. Had they proven it? Did it even matter anymore?

The autopsy had been conclusive. She could sure as hell prove that one. The thought of the autopsy chilled her and she quickly finished the last of her drink. It didn't help. The disbelief and the sense of failure still lingered. "Scoot out, Big Guy," she said nudging Booth in the leg so she could exit the booth. "I need another drink."

* * *

><p>"Please state your full name and designation for the record."<p>

"FBI Special Agent Claudia Ann Turner."

"Thank you. This is FBI Special Agent David Mills, Internal Affairs Division, today is Tuesday, May 29, 2011 and I am conducting the debrief of SA Claudia Turner. Also present are Special Agent William Somerset, IAD and FBI Certified Court Reporter Michelle Dailey." He paused a moment to mentally shift from the standard script to his actual questions. "Agent Turner, please establish for the record your participation in the questioning of Wallace Benjamin Fitz on May 25, 2011."

"Yes, I did participate as an adjunct to SSA Booth."

"Were you present for all rounds of questioning, Agent Turner?"

"No, I was not."

"Why is that?"

"Sir?"

"Why were you not present at all times?"

"I'm a junior agent, Agent Mills. I don't question my lead agent when he gives me an order. Agent Booth allowed me to observe all interviews, but I was only involved in one."

Agent Somerset spoke for the first time. "So while you were in the room for only one session you can provide accurate testimony regarding each interview."

"Correct," Turner agreed.

"Why the face?" Mills asked pointing a finger in her face.

"What?"

"You scowled as you answered Agent Somerset's question. Why?"

"I didn't like the implication of his question."

"Which is?"

"That I would need to provide testimony against Agent Booth."

"Is there a reason you should?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Glad to hear it," Mills answered without sincerity. "How often do you work with Agent Booth and his team?"

"Frequently."

"Do you have a lot of contact with the Jeffersonian staff?"

"Some. Why?"

"I'm just asking questions, Agent Turner. I'm trying to understand how such an inexperienced agent managed to get assigned to such a unique and highly specialized team."

"I got damn lucky. You don't think I know that?"

"Would you say you are grateful to Agent Booth?"

"For a great many things."

"Grateful enough to maybe look the other way if circumstances warranted it?"

"I am offended by that question, Agent Mills. I have agreed to tell the complete truth in this investigation, as I'm sure Agent Booth already did. There is nothing to hide and your insinuation is an insult. Now, do you have something specific in mind, or are you just slinging dirt at one of the Bureau's most successful investigators for no reason?"

"You should calm down, agent Turner. It was only a question."

She glared at him but didn't speak.

Mills glanced at his partner and they shared a look that made her want to smack their heads together. When Mills resumed his questions he took her by surprise and changed the subject. "Was Mr. Fitz cooperative during interrogation?"

Turner snorted. "Hardly."

"You sure about that? There are sections of the recorded statement that seem especially forthcoming."

Turner shrugged. "At the end it seemed like it, but that's not what was happening."

"Did Agent Booth account for the voluntary nature of Mr. Fitz's appearance?"

"You mean did he make sure the legalities were followed? Yeah, the little weasel got plenty of offers for food and drink and toilet breaks. Hell, Booth would have taken him for a walk around the block if he'd asked for it. The guy was here on his own, Booth made certain not a single one of his rights as an American citizen was infringed on in any way."

"I'm sensing hostility, Agent Turner, do you have a problem with participating in this investigation?"

Turner took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She'd never been through an IAD investigation and it was proving more difficult than she imagined. Lance had warned her, Booth too, but it was hard to understand how easily these guys could turn your words on you until you experienced it. She was hostile, but it wasn't about them. She was pissed off. It had been days since it all went down and she still felt the anger boiling inside. She took another breath and remembered why she was here. "I apologize if my answers seem antagonistic. I can assure you that I have no qualms about speaking with your or answering fully with regard to any questions you might have about the incident in question."

Mills inclined his head in acceptance of her apology. "Agent, how familiar where you with the series of crimes that prompted Mr. Fitz's questioning?"

Turner shuddered. "Too familiar."

"Please be specific," Mills scolded.

"My first exposure came when Agent Booth pulled me in to assist with the investigation on the death of Alice Fernley. I worked in some capacity on each subsequent case. There were eight in total."

"When was the Fernley case?"

"Eleven months ago."

"And Booth has been pursuing Fitz ever since?"

"Not at first. We didn't even realize he was a serial killer until the other bodies were discovered."

"Booth and his team attributed eight murders to this same individual?"

"He left a calling card," Turner pointed out crossing her arms across her chest. "It wasn't hard to figure out."

"And after eleven months Agent Booth suddenly knew exactly who it was he was looking for?"

"After Dr. Hodgins told him, yeah."

"Ah yes, Dr. Hodgins." He almost said more and then closed his mouth. When he continued it was in a new direction. "Did Agent Booth threaten Mr. Fitz with physical harm?"

"What? No."

"Agent I'll remind you that you have stated you were witness to all interrogation sessions of Mr. Fitz and that we have both the statement made by Booth and the interrogation video already in evidence." He leaned slightly forward as if anticipating the answer to his question. "Did Agent Booth at any time threaten Mr. Fitz?"

"Not directly."

"Indirectly?"

"He reacted ok! He was never going to actually hurt Creeps. Unless the psycho actually tried to carry out that veiled threat he made to Dr. Brennan."

"Creeps? That is the moniker Agent Booth assigned to Mr. Fitz, is that correct?"

"Actually, it was Dr. Hodgins who named him. We had to call him something and Dr. Hodgins has an odd sense of humor. It fit. Booth didn't really approve of the name, but it stuck anyway. I'm told that's kind of a team tradition."

"Returning to my earlier point, Booth did promise physical harm to his interrogation subject?"

"He never threatened him," Turner snapped. "He never said a word he didn't have to. But it was clear he would protect his partner. You going to sit there and let some lowlife threaten your partner?" she demanded as she pointed a finger at Somerset.

"I don't think Agent Mills and I have the same kind of partnership," Somerset sneered.

Turner glared at him and snapped her mouth shut before she said something her career would regret.

"What was Agent Booth's purpose in bringing in Dr. Sweets?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Touchy, Agent Turner," Somerset mocked. "You a little sensitive about the good doc?"

"No, I wondered why you would ask me about Booth's purpose. I would only be speculating. If you want the answer you should ask Booth."

"Oh, we did. Now I'd like your interpretation. You saw all the interviews, even participated in one. So why do you think Booth brought in his shrink?"

"I guess…he was looking for any angle that would work, you know? He'd tried just about everything in the book, by himself, with me, having Dr. Sweets ask some questions was just another technique. He was trying to find what would work."

"Because he had a vendetta? Or because he was frustrated?"

"Neither!"

"So Booth had no personal stake in this? Even though one of the victims was a friend?"

"No."

"And he displayed no frustration with the course of the interrogation prior to Dr. Sweets' involvement?" There was silence and Mills pushed. "Agent Turner, please answer the question."

"He was frustrated. We all were. It had been hours and we weren't getting anywhere. But it was not a vendetta and using Dr. Sweets was nothing more than the next step in the process."

"Kind of like letting amateurs take over the questions was the next step?"

"That's not what happened."

"What did happen?"

"You know what happened."

"What's in the report you mean?" Mills shook his head. "It's pretty unbelievable."

"It's true! Every statement in that report, every word of it is true."

"Whose idea was it to utilize the type of questioning you employed in your interview, Agent Turner?"

Turner frowned at the quick change of subject but she refused to be thrown off her game. She could see where this was going and she didn't like the way it looked. "Both Agent Booth and myself agreed it was a viable strategy."

"I'm sure you did. But who suggested it?" He sat waiting. "Agent Turner?"

"_Booth, are you ok?"_

"_Yeah, I'm fine."_

"_You don't look fine."_

"_What are you now, my mother? I said I'm fine, Turner."_

"_Yes, sir."_

_Booth sighed and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "Sorry," he said with sincerity. "Thanks for asking Turner. It's just been a really frustrating morning."_

"_I can imagine. The guy is freaking me out and I haven't even been in the room yet."_

"_Well, let's hope your tolerance is high because you're about to get your turn. You ready?"_

"_Sure, but…"_

"_What?"_

"_Are you sure this is the best approach?"_

"_Yeah, I'm sure. You having second thoughts, Agent?"_

"_No, sir."_

"_Good, let's go."_

"_Booth?"_

"_What?"_

"_I am not questioning orders, and if this is what you want done I'll do it. But…"_

"_Stop!" He interrupted her. "Stop right now. Quit thinking about this as if he's a regular human being. He's not. He's a disgusting, calculating, manipulative son of a bitch. He is not the average citizen. I know you are still green enough that those lessons they teach you at Quantico are still fresh. But, Turner, you have to learn something and you have to learn it now. The job isn't always that noble dream they sell you during the recruiting process. The motto may be Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity, but sometimes you have to set it aside. The job can be ugly, Turner and sometimes we have to get ugly with it."_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_If you have to question this, just remember those eight people he killed. Not one of them deserved it, they were good people, they were honest, hardworking, loving people. One of them was the most innocent human being I've ever known. And he killed them just because he wanted to, because he thought he was better than them. But he's not. And we are going to prove it to him."_

"_Let's go. I'd hate to keep him waiting."_

"_That'a girl."_

_Creeps grinned an oily, slithering kind of smile when he saw Turner enter the room behind Booth. "Agent Booth, how nice of you to invite Agent Turner to join us. How are you, my dear?"_

_Turner resisted the urge to shiver in revulsion. His voice sent tingles of disgust over her skin and down her spine. She already felt the need to shower and he had barely begun._

The sound of her name snapped her out of her reflection and Turner looked at Mills. "Agent Booth first suggested the line of questioning, but I gave it my full support."

"Right, full support."

"Are we about done here?"

"You have somewhere you need to be?"

"No, not really I just wonder how long you are going to keep asking questions that can't be twisted the way you want them. Booth didn't do anything wrong."

"I think that's for us to determine, Agent Turner. And I'm just not as certain of that as you are."

She wanted to throttle him. How could he not see the facts? How could two competent, seasoned, presumably intelligent agents not understand that they had had absolutely no control over what happened? They kept at it, hammering her with questions, doubling back on things they'd already asked and she'd already answered. Every time it was the same. She knew why they did it. They wanted to trip her up, make her say something she didn't intend. If she had been hiding something it might have worked. The way they looped in and out of the timeline that day made her head spin. If there was something to hide they could easily have tripped her up and made her reveal the secret. But there wasn't anything. Not that the truth prevented them from trying.

It was dark when she reached the Founding Fathers, dark outside, dark inside and the shadows were an even match for her mood. Today had been exhausting. On the bright side there was no way it could be worse than last Friday. She lifted her beer and watched the man across from her as she sipped. His whole career was riding on this. It was horrible enough that he had what had happened hanging like an albatross around his neck. That guilt and frustration and pain were enough of a burden. He didn't need something like this ending his career. It wasn't fair. Didn't they already have enough pain to process after all this? She took another sip and drained her bottle. This was definitely the part of the job they didn't advertise during recruiting.

Her musing was interrupted when Cam slid from the booth and she quickly followed. This was going to be a long night. She was going to need a few more drinks.

* * *

><p>"Please state your full name and designation for the record."<p>

"Dr, Lance Sweets, FBI psychologist."

"Thank you. This is FBI Special Agent David Mills, Internal Affairs Division, today is Tuesday, May 29, 2011 and I am conducting the debrief of Dr. Sweets. Also present are Special Agent William Somerset, IAD and FBI Certified Court Reporter Michelle Dailey. Dr. Sweets please confirm your participation in the questioning of Wallace Benjamin Fitz on May 25, 2011."

"That is correct, I did assist Agent Booth with the questioning of that suspect."

"And what qualifies you for that role?"

"I hold PhDs in both Clinical Psychology and Behavior Analysis from Columbia University. My position at the FBI includes providing psychological profiles of potential suspects and interpretation of the behavior of those interviewed or apprehended, as I did for Agent Booth."

"So you are a smart guy, like those scientists over at the museum?"

"Thank you for noticing, Agent Mills."

"I'm not real good at this stuff, doc," Somerset interjected. "Help me out a little. What you do is talk to the perps Booth hauls in and you what? You figure out if they are lying or something?"

"By reading minute facial cues and overall body language I'm able to ascertain whether or not a suspect is being evasive or hiding something." "So you're like a people reader? You figure people out?"

"I try, just as I can read right now that you're trying to make yourself seem less intelligent than you are. But, as Dr. Brennan likes to remind me, it is not an exact science."

"You like the scientist lady, doc? You had a little smile when you said that."

"Dr. Brennan and I share a friendly affection for one another. We have a long running disagreement about the compatibility of our fields. It's become something of a bonding experience for us and it does make me smile."

"You think it will still be friendly after what went down in this case?"

Sweets' smile disappeared. "This case will result in a strengthening of Booth and Brennan's team."

"Really?" Mills shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know doc, I think this might be the kind of thing that pulls people apart. Something like this sparks emotion. Things get said in the heat of the moment, accusations fly. I'm no shrink, but I know enough to know someone has to be held accountable. Mistakes were made. Big ones. Big enough to tear this team of yours apart."

Sweets shook his head. "That won't happen."

"You've got them all figured out don't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Booth, his partner, this group of whatever they are that you work with. You have them all figured out don't you? It's not just the perps you analyze, is it?"

Sweets nodded faintly, "I know them well, if that's what you mean."

"But you actually counseled Booth and his partner, right? You've actually spent time professionally studying them? You even wrote a book about them."

Sweets' mouth twitched as he tried to determine the intent of this line of questioning. "That's a matter of record, Agent Mills. I'm sure that you're aware that my first assignment with Booth was an analysis of his partnership with Dr. Brennan for the FBI."

"But it didn't stop when that was over, did it? No, I'm betting you still do it. You still study them. What did you call it?" He glanced at a note inside the file resting open before him. "Their unique symbiotic yet dichotomous partnership," he quoted. "That sounds like the kind of thing you'd continue to pay attention to, doc."

"Agent Mills, would you like for me to state on the record that I have a professional interest in Agent Booth and his partner?"

"Yes, actually I would. That would be very helpful."

"Fine." Sweets raised his hands, "It's true, I can't help but pay attention to them, they fascinate me. They're two people who shouldn't work well together but they do and watching them find their way can be highly entertaining. Yes, Agent Mills, I make a habit of analyzing Booth and Brennan."

"Great, then let me ask you this." He dropped his pen and sat back as his eyes met Sweets' guarded gaze. "Did Agent Booth allow this to happen or did he actively orchestrate the events?"

Sweets sat up straight his cheeks flushing slightly as he held his temper in check. "That's a terribly loaded question. How about neither, Agent Mills? What happened last Friday was out of Booth's control. It was out of all of our control. It was in motion prior to Fitz walking into the Hoover, and there is nothing Booth or any of us could have done to stop it."

Somerset flipped open his own folder and glanced through the papers inside. He found what he was looking for and pulled a sheet of paper free. "Dr. Sweets, you filed a report in Agent Booth's personnel record on April 24, 2009 with the following assessment." He paused and then began reading from the paper. "Agent Booth has a powerful need to control his environment. This need often manifests itself in his work habits and is often a source of conflict with Dr. Brennan."

"That was a long time ago, but I do remember that report," Sweets admitted. "You're taking that out of context though. What I was getting at was…"

"Doc," Mills interrupted. "I'm sure it's real insightful, but we need to press on. We have a lot of interviews to do today. I think my partner was about to get to his point."

Somerset nodded and dropped the paper. "In your professional opinion, Dr. Sweets, how much did Agent Booth's need to control the situation contribute to how the events of Friday May 25 spiral out of control?"

Sweets' blew an exasperated breath from between his lips and leaned forward. He spoke with more animation than he usually allowed and internally he chided himself for letting his interrogation room demeanor falter. He knew he shouldn't but these guys were asking the wrong questions; dangerous questions that could land Booth in a lot of trouble. "I already told you. Nothing would have changed the outcome of Fitz's questioning."

"Hmm, maybe," Mills responded sounding anything but convinced. "Doc, do you think the relationship Booth has with his partner is a detriment to his work performance?"

"What? No!"

"It does skirt the line on regulations."

"If you've been reading personnel records and my reports so closely you must know my position on this matter," Sweets fired back. "The connection between Booth and Brennan enhances their effectiveness as a team."

"Yeah, I've never understood that."

"Well, I do. I think we've established that I'm highly qualified to make that assessment so you can believe me when I say Agent Booth is in no way hampered in performing his duties as a result of his partnership with Dr. Brennan."

"You seem a little worked up there, doc."

"You can't have it both ways, Agent Mills. If you want my expert opinion on why Booth did what he did. If you want me to explain the motivations of Wallace Fitz or interpret the actions of Jeffersonian team then you have to give equal credence to my opinion on this matter. You may not like it, but it's the truth."

"Fair enough," Mills said backing down and giving Sweets a placating hand gesture. "Let's talk about something else."

"How about you?"

"Me? What about me?"

"Well, as you just reminded me, Dr. Sweets, you are an expert. You have quite the list of letters behind your name, lots of big impressive degrees and your own personnel file is full of commendations and awards."

"What is your point, Mills?"

"My point is this. If you are so clever, such a top flight shrink, how in the hell did you miss this? Shouldn't you have seen this coming? I mean, what the hell, doc?" He pounded a fist on the table and Sweets jumped in surprise. "You sat in that observation room all damn day, Sweets! How did you not see this as a possibility?"

He shook his head as if in disbelief. "I mean it boggles the mind, really. You don't want me to blame Booth. You claim he had no way to know what was coming. Ok, maybe I'll go along with that after all he's just a cop like me, an average guy. But you are the smart one. You are tuned in to people. You've been studying Wallace Fitz for eleven months, Dr. Sweets. How did you not anticipate this disaster?"

"I could have. I should have," Sweets answered as he slumped in his chair. "If I had approached my analysis of Creeps from a domestic point of view I totally could have."

He was a little surprised not to find looks of blame and accusation on the IAD faces across the table and he sat up a little straighter. He spoke quickly hoping to explain or alleviate his own guilt. "Fitz's profile is a one of a highly intelligent narcissist who planned out every detail of his vicitims' deaths. Nothing was done without a plan. When he walked into the Hoover, I knew he had some sort of plan in place…"

"So you could have seen it coming. You could have stopped it."

"No."

"Aw, come on, doc. You tell me I can't have it both ways and then you want to do the same. Either I blame Booth or I blame you. Someone is at fault. Or maybe I should blame Turner? Is that it, the rookie made a mistake and you and Booth are covering it up?"

Sweets smirked at him. "That had to be your weakest attempt. Don't try to use my relationship with Agent Turner for emotional blackmail, Agent Mills. I won't allow it."

"Give me a name, Dr. Sweets. Someone is to blame here. Who made the mistake?"

"No one. I can keep repeating this until I'm blue in the face or you can actually listen to me. There was no way to prevent what happened. As horrible as it was, as unexpected and as shocking as the events that unfolded were, I still maintain that there was nothing we could have done to prevent it."

"Things like that just don't happen inside the Hoover, Dr. Sweets. You can't just shrug and walk away from it. Someone has to be held responsible."

"You want me to give you a name? Someone to blame? Wallace Fitz."

"_Someone has to be held responsible."_ Sweets pulled open the door and entered the bar with his head bowed. The words had been ringing in his ears for hours. Is that what they wanted here, a scapegoat? Would they really sacrifice Booth just to prove a point?

He stopped at the bar and ordered a drink. As he waited he turned and leaned his back against the wood. His friends sat not far away and he lifted his chin to acknowledge the look he received from Booth. He appreciated the greeting, silent and reserved as it was, it was still a greeting. That tiny gesture of normalcy was important for them, important for Booth. He could see the weight the agent carried as he waited for this to end. It was the same weight he had been carrying since Friday.

For the hundredth or maybe thousandth time those final minutes played over in his head. He saw the look of shock on Booth's face. He heard the gasps and felt the coldness of surprise that descended on them all. He remembered the scramble to the door as he yelled for help, his own cries mixing with Claudia's. Over their frantic calls there had been the commanding orders Booth had issued. The pounding of running feet and the shouts had added to the chaos and it sounded more real to him than the buzz of normal bar sounds that surrounded him now. Taking his drink he nodded toward the table letting the bartender know he'd be running a tab. He passed Claudia on his way to the table and she gave him a kiss. It wasn't much of a kiss; it was kind of like that nod he had received from Booth, an attempt at normal amid the abnormal. As he slid into his seat he sat his drink on the table and wondered if they would ever find normal again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>How could the teams' win over Creeps turn to a shocking loss in mere minutes? Join us next week to find out in the second part of the season finale, The Agony in the Defeat by NatesMama and Squinttoyou.<strong>_


	21. The Agony in the Defeat

6.5x21: The Agony in the Defeat ~ Written by Squinttoyou and NatesMama

"Please state your full name and designation for the record."

"Dr. Temperance Brennan, Forensic Anthropologist with the Jeffersonian Institution's Medico-Legal Lab."

"And your title within the FBI?"

"I am contracted out per an agreement between the Bureau and the Jeffersonian to identify previously unidentifiable human remains for purposes of investigation within the confines of the Criminal Investigative Division, specifically Violent Crimes, in partnership with Special Agent Seeley Booth."

"So, you are Agent Booth's partner."

"That's what I just said."

"Right." Agent Mills cleared his throat and ignored the smirk on his partner's face. "Thank you. This is FBI Special Agent David Mills, Internal Affairs Division, today is Tuesday, May 29, 2011 and I am interviewing Dr. Temperance Brennan. Also present are Special Agent William Somerset, IAD, and FBI Certified Court Reporter Michelle Dailey." He paused, slightly unnerved by Brennan's intense stare. "Dr. Brennan, would you please recount, to the best of your ability, the events surrounding the interrogation of Wallace Fitz on May 25, 2011?"

"From which point would you like me to begin?" Brennan sat back and relaxed into her chair, unconcerned with the looming interview, considering it a monumental waste of time.

"Please start from when you were called to the Hoover to join in the interrogation of Wallace Fitz, Dr. Brennan."

"Are you not concerned with the investigation itself?"

Mills fumbled with his paperwork. "Uh…we have that information, Dr. Brennan. What we need from you is your recounting of the events that pertain to the incident in the interrogation room."

"Very well." Brennan sat up, hands clasped on the table in front of her as if she were a schoolgirl taking an important exam. "I was working with the rest of our team at the Jeffersonian, collecting, cataloguing and analyzing the evidence that proved the serial killer we called Creeps McGee was, in fact, Wallace Benjamin Fitz. During this time, Agent Booth called me and requested that I come to the Hoover and join the interrogation."

"And was this unusual?"

Brennan considered her answer for a moment, "Moderately. I am, as a matter of course, with Agent Booth when he begins an interrogation. However, as I explained, it was imperative that I remain at the lab to collect the case evidence."

"Did Agent Booth give an explanation as to why you were called in to assist at such a late date?"

_Booth pulled Brennan aside, away from where Sweets and Turner stood near the observation room, and lowered his voice. _

"_Bones…" He glanced at Turner, who was trying very hard to look as though she wasn't listening. "I am not entirely comfortable with you being in the same room as this psycho, but…"_

"_What, Booth?" She grabbed his hands in an uncharacteristic show of public affection. "I know I don't read people very well, but even I can see that you're troubled about more than my safety."_

_Sighing, Booth led Brennan into the observation room and closed the door, affording them a bit of privacy and giving Brennan her very first look at the suspect in question. Booth watched, stomach coiled in worry as she faced the glass and stared at Fitz, who was sitting calmly on the other side. Booth focused on Brennan's face, unable to look away as something dark crossed her features and the hand that she placed against the glass curled into a white-knuckled fist. _

"_We have to do this by the book, Bones. And ... I've tried. I reasoned with him, played good cop-bad cop, let him think he was intimidating me...nothing is working. He's the hardest suspect I've ever tried to break and it's pissing me off, Bones." He took a shuddering breath, letting all his frustrations, worries, and feelings of inadequacy out at once. In the privacy of the observation room, Booth was able to show a side of himself that he only ever showed to the woman in front of him. "I feel like I'm losing to this guy and he's sitting right in front of me! He turned himself in and I can literally feel him slipping through my fingers!"_

_Brennan nodded once and turned from the glass, her eyes immediately locking with Booth's. "Then let's go in there and make sure that he doesn't get away with it."_

"So Agent Booth was worried?" Mills gave Brennan what she could only describe as an oily smile.

She shook her head slightly, trying hard not to let his combative attitude get to her. "No, not worried...frustrated. Booth is very, very good at his job. One of the best agents in the country. And the interrogation room is his domain, where he feels most comfortable. And Mr. Fitz was sullying that domain with his pompous and uncooperative behavior. He was offended."

"Offended enough to do something he shouldn't have?"

"If you really believed that, you would have already arrested him. You simply want someone to take the responsibility from the Bureau. And although he did everything by the book, followed every rule, obeyed every guideline...this happened under Booth's supervision. You want to make him the scapegoat, completely disregarding the fact that one is not necessary."

"You don't think someone should be held responsible?"

"Wallace Fitz is responsible. He admitted to killing all of those innocent people, and he walked in this building of his own volition. No one could have possibly foreseen what was to happen. Logically, the responsible party has been identified. Why you continue to waste my time and the time of every member of our team is beyond me. Internal Affairs must not have much of a vetting process as compared to the other divisions." Brennan finished her speech, laced her fingers together and placed her intertwined hands on her lap, a wide-eyed, innocent look crossing her face. Luckily, neither agent could see that although she radiated outward calm, on her lap, her knuckles were blindingly white.

Mills sighed, more than immune to jabs at him and his colleagues by now. "Just tell us what happened in the interrogation room, Dr. Brennan."

"_Ah. The inestimable Doctor Temperance Brennan. I'm honored that you could join us."_

_Brennan took the seat directly across from Fitz as Booth took up guard directly behind her. "The sentiment is not returned, I can assure you." She raised an eyebrow at his derisive chuckle. "What do you want?"_

"_I can see that interacting on a daily basis with a partner so below your intellect has eroded your usually impeccable manners."_

_Brennan bristled inwardly. "As a matter of fact, Agent Booth is quite intelligent." _

_Giving her what could only be described as a condescending nod, Fitz continued as if she had never spoken. "I mean, class always tells, am I right, Dr. Brennan? The son of a weak-willed woman who gave up a life of privilege and status to marry an alcoholic barber from Philadelphia, who ended up beating her and their children for sport."_

_Booth moved in front of Brennan and slammed his hand down on the table, rattling everything in the room not nailed down. "Why don't you stick to talking about what you know? Huh? Murdering innocent people, that's your specialty, so if you want to have your say with Dr. Brennan here..." Booth leaned forward, making sure he looked Fitz straight in the eye. "You will behave yourself."_

"_Fine, Agent Booth." Fitz looked mildly irritated as he leaned forward towards Brennan, causing Booth to tense in anticipation. "How do you deal with someone with such an obvious lack of control?"_

"_Why did you kill Zack?" Brennan asked suddenly. Booth gave her an appraising look, and obviously seeing what he needed to see, backed off and took up his previous position behind her._

"_Who?"_

"_Zack. Zachary Uriah Addy. You met him in the psychiatric hospital. He was only thirty years old. He was a very gifted forensic anthropologist and a very good, if troubled, man. He was loyal and kind and he was my friend. And I know that you know exactly who he was. Please do not insult my intelligence or yours with cheap and useless denial." Brennan sat back again, her lips set in a straight line and her arms crossed in front of her. _

_The other man pretended to consider her request, and then dismissed her with a shake of his head. "Obviously you are not the rational, emotionless scientist I was told you were, Dr. Brennan. I cannot possibly continue a dialogue with you when we both know that it will only dissolve into inconsequential detritus."_

"_Inconsequential detritus?" Brennan's voice was low and deadly serious and it sent a chill skittering along Booth's spine. "You-" She shook her head in amazement. "You refer to the death, or deaths, of fellow human beings as mere loose fragments...as waste? Not..." she spit the word out, "worthy? Worthy of your obviously superior intellect and valuable attention?" Brennan stood suddenly, surprising Booth and drawing a smile from her opponent. _

"_Bones..." Booth moved to touch her arm, but she stepped back and held up her hand to stop him. Turning back to Fitz, her voice clear and strong, Brennan began to speak._

"_Alice Fernley. She was just a lovely woman who wanted to expand her horizons and you tortured her as if she were nothing. Bruce Davis, a good family man who never hurt anyone. Dr. Lauren Kellogg was a decent woman who was murdered in front of her child! Todd Adams, Sam Osman, senseless deaths. Dr Ofelia Cruz, killed in one of the most horrific ways I've ever seen...all good, decent people who never did anything to deserve their end at your hands, and you..." She wheeled around to face Booth. "I need to get out of here."_

_Booth, who had been watching Brennan's spiel with a combination of awe and worry, was quick to agree. He pointed at Fitz in warning and led his partner out of the interrogation room and out into the hall, where he pulled her into his arms tightly._

"After you left the interrogation room, did you continue to observe the interview?" Mills asked.

"No, I did not." Brennan looked off at a point somewhere behind the agent. "I did not wish to share any more space with that monster."

"Monster? That's awfully harsh, Dr. Brennan."

"Well, what would you call him?" Brennan's voice now lacked it's previous fire. After everything that had happened in the last week, she just wanted to go home.

B&B

The bell chimed overhead as Brennan entered the bar, her eyes immediately seeking out one person. When she spotted him, sitting next to Cam and nursing what looked to her like a simple glass of water, she crossed to their table. He stood to welcome her and she slid gratefully into his waiting arms.

"Booth." Brennan breathed. "I am so glad to see you."

"Hey, Bones..." Booth looked down at where her head was buried in his chest. "Was it...were they hard on you?"

Shaking her head against him, she sighed. "Not especially so, no. I'm just..."

"You look exhausted. Why don't you let me take you home, and I'll come back here to wait on-"

"No, Booth. I want to stay." He turned her toward the table, where she greeted the team with a wan smile. "I need to be here."

Cam reached over and patted her hand. "Would you like a drink, Brennan? I'm buying this round."

"No, thank you, Cam. I think I'll stick to water for now."

Booth looked at her askew. "No wine? You sure, Bones? Might help you relax."

"I'm sure, Booth. I just...I want to keep a clear head right now." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and nodded to Claudia and Sweets. Looking closely at the silent woman next to her, Brennan leaned over and whispered, "How are you doing, Angela?"

* * *

><p>"<em>No! No, Booth...that is not going to happen!" Angela paced the length of her office furiously, waving her free hand in front of her as if swatting an annoying insect buzzing in her face. "I absolutely forbid you to let <em>_my husband__ anywhere near that freak show!"_

"_Ang..." Booth glanced at Brennan as he tried to explain his position to the agitated artist. "We aren't getting anywhere with this guy. We are hitting a wall and we can't hold him much longer. He wants to see Hodgins. I think he might actually __talk__ if we get Hodgins in the room with him." _

"_But Booth...this man is insane. And he's driven my husband to the edge, more than once over the last few months. For God's sake, Booth...__he killed Zack!__ I cannot see any reason why he would want to have Hodgins in that room other than to taunt him!"_

_Booth sighed. "Maybe. You might be right, Angela. But look...do you trust me?"_

_Angela seriously considered saying no, but her better nature took over and answered for her. "Yes." The response was whispered and desperate. "You know I do, Booth." She released a ragged breath. "That was a dirty play, Agent Booth."_

_Finding no joy in his looming victory, Booth matched Angela's low tone. "I promise you, Angela. Nothing will happen to Hodgins. I will be right there the entire time, and I will protect him."_

_Her hand that held the phone tightly shook with the effort to put her faith in the man on the other end. "You swear to me, Booth. You __swear__ that you will protect my husband, and I will believe you."_

"_I swear, Ang. You have my word."_

_The fight drained out of her as she absorbed the absolute sincerity in Booth's words. "Then I have no choice but to believe you."_

B&B

"I'm okay, Bren. Really." She glanced to the other side of her friend, noting Booth's stiff demeanor with a pang of guilt. "It's no one's fault." She looked pointedly at the agent. "It's just...hard to think about."

Brennan awkwardly rubbed her arm, attempting to comfort her. "I understand. Is there...anything I can do for you?"

Stifling at smile at Brennan's earnest offer, she shook her head. "No, really Brennan. I just need to sit here, have several more drinks and try and get this whole nightmare out of my head. Once I do that, I think I can function again."

"Angela..." Booth started to speak, his eyes hooded and slightly red.

"No, Booth. No. Please don't do this to yourself." She looked around the table at the others. "No one here blames you. And do you know why? Because it's not your fault. No one could have seen this coming. No amount of science or psychology or investigation could have predicted it. Not even you and your gut." She paused while everyone murmured their agreement. "Let's just sit here, drink, and try to forgive ourselves for a change, huh?"

Still looking unconvinced, Booth nodded slowly and turned to take another sip of his water. "Alright. Thanks, Ang."

"You're welcome." She gestured at her empty tumbler. "Now, who's buying my next drink?"

* * *

><p>"Please state your full name for the record."<p>

"Dr. Jack Stanley Hodgins IV."

"Thank you. This is FBI Special Agent David Mills, Internal Affairs Division, today is Tuesday, May 29, 2011 and I am conducting the debrief of Dr. Hodgins. Also present are Special Agent William Somerset, IAD and FBI Certified Court Reporter Michelle Dailey. Doctor, would you please recount, to the best of your ability, the events of May 25, 2011?"

"Why?"

"Oh, Doc, tell me we aren't going to have a problem here."

"No problem," Hodgins answered harshly. "I just can't imagine what a repeat of my written statement would accomplish. If you have questions get to them."

"What's going on here, Doc?" Mills asked as he leaned forward in threat. "You are more than a little agitated."

"Agitated?" Hodgins laughed in a harsh burst. "I'm angry, Agent Mills. I am more pissed off than I have ever been in my entire life. And I'm more than a little offended that you are making the people who lived through this nightmare relive it like it was nothing. You have no idea what that man cost us. I doubt you can fathom the price we have paid."

"The attitude will get us nowhere, Dr. Hodgins." Somerset spoke up when his partner appeared to struggle to control his reaction to the tirade. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"Do you want to break out a couple of rulers and compare size, Somerset?" Hodgins asked derisively. "Don't try to intimidate me."

"You've got a lot of money, huh Doc?"

Hodgins leaned back in his seat at the familiar subject. This was not a new line of accusation he had faced it often. "Quite a bit actually," he casually agreed. "Why?

"Make you feel important? Invincible? What you figure you can just do whatever you want here and some high-priced lawyer will just make the consequences go away?"

"That's not me and you know it. That kind of hubris belongs to men like Creeps."

"You mean Wallace Fitz?"

"You know who I mean. You call him whatever you want, but that name I gave him? That's the one that fits."

"Wow." Mills eyes narrowed and a smile lifted his mouth. "You actually hate him don't you?"

"With a passion, Agent Mills."

"He's an awful lot like you."

Hodgins eyes narrowed and his fist curled into a tight ball. "I don't think so, no."

"Rich guy, maybe not your kind of rich, but the kind of rich most of us won't ever see," Mills said his eyes watching Hodgins' every response with intense scrutiny. "Highly intelligent; you both attended fancy schools, Ivy League and what not. Multiple degrees, too. What is it with rich guys and bugs?"

"Do you have a point?"

"Just that the similarities are fascinating."

"You are easily amused."

"Actually, no Doc I'm pretty damn hard to amuse and right now my patience is wearing thin. So why don't you cut the crap and explain to me how this happened? Because the way I see it, you are the guy with the motive, the knowledge, and the opportunity to make it happen."

"I've never killed anyone in my life, Agent Mills."

"But you would kill Fitz if you had the chance. Admit it, Doc."

Hodgins blue eyes were bright and they met Mills' gaze with absolute honesty. "Yeah, if I'd had the chance I would have done it."

"You were eager to get in that interrogation room, weren't you Hodgins?"

The memory was replaying in his mind once again and Hodgins eyes gleamed. "Oh yeah," he admitted his voice thick with the echo of that moment so clear in his mind. "I couldn't wait."

"_Let's go."_

"Hold on."

"Why?"

"Because you are too eager, Hodgins. He asked for you, doesn't that suggest something?"

"It suggests that I'm finally going to get the opportunity to look this guy in the face and get some answers."

Booth shook his head. "No, it suggests he's up to something. And we aren't going in there until I'm certain that you are aware of the danger."

"What danger?"

"I don't know!" Booth barked so hotly that Hodgins jumped. "I've dealt with serial killers before, Hodgins. Epps was an obsessed nut-job, but Creeps is different. He's both brilliant and fuckin' nuts; he's the worst combo! I can't get a read on any of this, but I know he's up to something. I promised Angela that you would be safe." He ran a hand through his hair and his dark eyes locked with the eager blue of his friend. "I promised Bones that this guy has done all the hurt he's going to do to her family. I intend to keep those promises, Hodgins. So just slow down and be careful in there."

"_Yeah, ok." The reminder of what they had already lost sobered Jack and his eagerness was tempered with caution as he followed Booth into the room. _

"_Dr. Hodgins, thank you for coming," Creeps greeted him._

_Jack took the seat opposite and crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm here. What do you want?"_

"_Conversation with a peer, Dr. Hodgins, nothing more," he answered. "I had hoped to find that with Dr. Brennan, but I fear while we are intellectual equals she lacks a certain something that would help her understand me."_

_Hodgins snorted. "You don't come close to matching Brennan's intellect."_

"_Petty, Jack," Creeps sneered. _

"_Truth, Wally."_

"_I see this will not be the civil conversation I hoped it would be."_

"_Civil?" Jack shouted. _

_Booth had gravitated to the corner hoping since Creeps had requested it that the conversation would prove to be productive to their end if he simply stayed out of it. He stepped forward now concerned at the spark in Hodgins' temper. "Hodgins," he called in warning. Jack glanced his way and made an effort to calm himself._

_Creeps chuckled. "Is it frustrating Dr. Hodgins? Is it galling to know that I sit here and there is nothing you can do to extract that revenge you are so desperate to find?"_

"_Watching you rot in jail for the rest of your miserable life is going to be sufficiently satisfying."_

"_You don't honestly believe that will happen. How could it? You have nothing. No evidence. No proof." He smirked. "You've been studying this for nearly a year, Jack and you have nothing. Admit it. I won't be going to jail."_

"_You are going to pay. You killed those people. You killed Zack! And you are going to pay." His voice had quivered with his passion and Hodgins paused to gain better control of himself. _

"_In the year you have wasted learning nothing, I have learned a great deal." Creeps leaned back in his chair and hooked his left ankle over his right knee in casual repose. "For instance, did you know the body's reaction to paraponera clavata venom accelerates exponentially? Alice could have survived if I had not bred additional generations to assist in the testing process. I am lucky that I conducted that experiment. I would have been most vexed if my revenge against Dr. Kellogg had failed." _

_The scowl on Hodgins face seemed to amuse him and he continued as if they were discussing the latest American Journal of Entomology. "Bruce taught me that a fracture to the fourth rib is a far greater danger to the heart than a blow to the sternum. Though I suspect Dr. Brennan could have told me that. The toxicity of the hippomane mancinella was a fascinating experiment. Man will never reach the same level of raw danger as that of nature itself. It took Dr. Cruz some time to die and my observations assure me it was quite painful."_

_He sat forward, both feet dropping to the ground and his hands reaching out as if to convey sincerity. "I want to assure you that Dr. Addy felt very little pain at all. I was impressed with his intellect and so chose to make the act mercifully quick. He knew what was happening of course, but it was over soon. His body however reacted long afterward. His feet kicked for a very long time."_

"Doc, you still with me?" Mills called snapping a finger in front of Hodgins' face.

"What?" The image of Zack's final moments that Creeps had created still haunted Jack and his breathing was labored as he tried to remove it from his mind's eye. "What did you ask me?" he asked returning his attention to this moment.

"I asked you to explain again how you identified Wallace Fitz as your suspect."

"Zack…" he closed his eyes as he imagined the sound of socked feet beating against a metal table. "Zack's journal."

"Dr. Zack Addy, the eighth victim?"

The words still hurt and Jack swallowed audibly. "Yes. He wrote about his days, mostly observations he made about his fellow residents." He chuckled fondly. "Sometime the kind of stuff only he would have noticed."

"And he identified Fitz?"

"At first, I didn't pay attention to the entry. When Booth and Brennan interviewed the hospital staff and patients they believed the Ben mentioned in the entry was the manifestation of a patient. A product of the man's multiple personality disorder. We didn't realize until later that it was actually Creeps stalking Zack."

"How did you know it wasn't made up?"

"Bees."

"Like honey bees?"

"Exactly like honey bees. I'm an entomologist, Agent Mills. I notice bugs. Zack wasn't, but he was a very good scientist and he could recognize that in others. In that entry, he mentioned Ben's scientific prowess and their discussion of a study on CCD."

"What's that?"

"Colony Collapse Disorder. It's an unexplained phenomenon in which worker bees abruptly disappear leaving behind an unhatched brood and their queen."

"How was that helpful?"

"Because Zack said Ben participated in a significant study at UC-Riverside. And I happen to know that the only such study ever conducted at that institution occurred the year before I joined the faculty. When I put that together, I realized what had been nagging at me. I knew Creeps. I'd seen him twice, once in the Jeffersonian garden and once in the lab itself. Both times I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The memory of that bee study let it all fall into place and I knew his name."

"So you were colleagues in California?"

"Not exactly. I was on faculty as an associate non-tenure professor in entomology while I worked on my second PhD. Creeps was a second year grad assistant in entomology. I didn't have much contact with him, he was a research assistant for the Department Head, but I knew of him. He was an odd kind of guy, the kind that you remember even if you don't want to."

"And your memory is so good Booth trusted it enough to request an arrest warrant?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Booth wouldn't be that reckless. But now that I could give him a name we could track the connection. Angela didn't have much trouble finding the trail."

"Angela?"

"Angela Montenegro-Hodgins, my wife."

"Is there anybody in this group that doesn't sleep with someone else in it?"

Hodgins ignored that. "Angie was able to link Creeps to all of them; all the victims. And even if she hadn't, you've got a transcript where he admits it all himself."

"Yeah, we've got that."

"_So it was about revenge?" Booth asked. "You said earlier that Dr. Kellogg was revenge."_

_Creeps shook his head as if he and Hodgins were sharing a joke and he pointed at the agent seated next to the entomologist. "Agent Booth can't resist taking a guess. He's still hoping to claim some small part in a victory that simply isn't going to happen. It's the product of a smaller mind, Dr. Hodgins."_

_He turned to Booth and began to lecture. "There are two kinds of people in this world, Agent Booth; those of us of exceptional talent and potential, the gifted, and then those like you, who are of average abilities. As a matter of course, it is the duty of the superior to eliminate the lesser; an application of Darwinism that is too infrequently utilized. Those against whom I took action had taken advantage of me and it had to be addressed. They had to learn a hard lesson about their true position."_

"_That's a lie," Jack spat. "Zack never did anything to you."_

"_He would be the exception," Creeps agreed. "But, I'm afraid he was necessary. You see, I had one final experiment to conduct and I couldn't risk your interference. Killing Dr. Addy assured me that YOUR attention, Dr. Hodgins would be harmlessly redirected."_

"_A decoy!" Hodgins choked out. "You killed Zack as a distraction?"_

"_It worked very well," Creeps bragged. "I was able to enjoy the culmination of my purpose with absolute attention, no annoying interruptions. It was quite pleasurable to spend a week watching Mitchel die."_

"_Mitchel?" Booth demanded. _

_Creeps gave him a simpering smile and reached for the pad of paper and pen that lay waiting for him to make a written statement. He quickly scratched an address on a sheet and tore it from the pad. He slid it across to Booth. "This is my current address. I think you'll find you've missed one final victim. Although I suppose there is less excitement about finding one now that you know where I am."_

"_Who is Mitchel?"_

"_The man who had the impudence to marry my wife," he answered. "The worst of all my offenders. Really, all the others were killed as preparation for him. Their offenses were substantial, Cruz interfered with my dissertation defense, Todd Adams cheated on the fourth grade geography bee and robbed me of the title, Kellogg used her wiles to usurp a Fellowship I should have been granted. They all wronged me, but none so much as Mitchel. She was my wife. He had no right to touch her, no right to take her from me. He cheapened her and by extension me. It was unforgiveable and I enjoyed inflicting the pain of his death."_

"And the body of Mitchel Garrison was found at that address?"

"Yeah," Hodgins rubbed his hand over his face. "Afterward, we went and found him; Brennan, me and Booth. He'd been dead a while, long enough that Brennan was going to be the only one to identify him. Tests show he died of mercury poisoning. It's a painful way to go."

"You know a lot about poisons don't you, Dr. Hodgins?" Somerset asked.

Jack looked at him. He wasn't fooled by the question; he knew where this was headed. "Yeah, entomologist, botanist, mineralogist, I'm real good with poisonous bugs, plants and elements. I know just about every way there is to poison something."

"You ever use that knowledge?"

Hodgins snorted. "Yeah, man, every day. It's my job!" He leaned back in his chair and waved a hand at the men across the table. "You two have been doing this a long time, right? Let me remind you that, for agents who actually solve crimes instead of wasting time digging for dirt on fellow cops, that evidence is a good thing. I look at evidence, gentlemen. Booth tracks it down and we figure it out. So yeah, I spend a lot of time worrying about what kinds of poison can kill a person."

"And you don't think that with that kind of expertise that we should at least question the official statement?" Mills asked.

"Question all you want. I didn't do it. If I had it wouldn't have taken six hours."

"What do you mean?"

Hodgins shook his head. "Did you read the report? Or were the words too big for you? It was time released. Creeps was a chemist, you know. Trust me, if I'd known he swallowed that damn pill before he entered the Hoover, I'd have made him puke it up."

"_You are starting to sweat, Wally," Hodgins noted with a smirk as Booth went to the door to order Turner to follow the tip on Mitchel. Creeps definitely looked sallow but he only smiled. "Are you having second thoughts about what just happened here?"_

_Jack stood and leaned across the table so he hovered over his nemesis. "You just confessed to the murder of eight people. I don't need the altered exoskeleton I found. I don't need your participation in the CCD study. I don't need your dissertation on chemical components of organic toxins. I don't have to prove any of it, because you just admitted it."_

"_The results of an experiment are always in flux until the final results are achieved, Dr. Hodgins," Creeps answered. His forehead now gleamed with sweat and his hand shook slightly as he tapped a finger against the table. "Victory is never assured until the final moment. As Einstein taught us, all things are relative."_

"_Relative my ass," Hodgins gloated as he leaned even closer. "You are done."_

"_Of course I'm done, Jack." He smirked at Hodgins, "Do you think that I would be here if I wasn't? Those who made the tragic mistake of robbing me of my victories, of stealing what was rightfully mine have finally been forced to face their consequences."_

"_So, what? You've killed all your enemies so now you're alright with rotting in prison for the rest of your life?"_

"_No, not at all." Creeps leaned in toward Hodgins and dropped his voice, "I believe that it's best to walk away while you're still on top, when no one else can even dream of besting you." Creeps' mouth opened but he did not speak. His body convulsed once as if he were coughing and a smile grew across his open lips. Grinning wide he looked Hodgins in the eye as blood gushed from his mouth. As It erupted from him, a fountain of dark red liquid, warm and thick, speckling his face and splashing over Hodgins, Wallace Benjamin Fitz gurgled his last words, "Mission accomplished."_

_Hodgins sank into his chair, the shock of loss too great to do anything more. He watched as the life poured out of his enemy. He held the gaze of the maniacal eyes until the moment they faded to darkness. He ignored the shouts and the chaos as Booth and Turner called for help and others responded. He sat with hands covered in sticky evidence of his loss as they pulled Creeps to the floor and tried to reverse what was already done. But no CPR, no transfusion, nothing they could do would erase the look of victory on the dead man's face._

B&B

"I'm sorry you had to retell it, Hodgins."

Jack nodded and tossed back the last of his drink. "Yeah, thanks, Booth. Goes with the job, right?"

"It goes with mine," the agent agreed. "Not so sure they covered that in bug school."

Jack snorted softly enjoying the flash of humor. Angela moved closer and he put his arm around her as he leaned back. "We all chose to come back Booth. We didn't have to. I could still be in Paris living off Cantilever, if I wanted. We made a choice, all of us, and we knew what it meant."

"Well said," Sweets said lifting his glass in support of the sentiment.

"Paris seems a lifetime ago," Angela noted with a sad smile.

"Much has changed since that time," Brennan agreed. Her eyes shifted to the man beside her and she smiled as she reached for his hand. "I find most to be for the better."

"Well, I for one am glad you all returned," Cam said looking around at the faces of this one-of-a-kind group.

"We had to," Booth said giving his old friend a playful grin. "We couldn't miss the chance to watch Dr. Camille Saroyan go from badass to Betty Crocker."

Cam glared at him before letting the smile she felt break through. "In the old days I'd get you for that one."

The levity was welcome, but none of them were feeling energetic enough to maintain it and the light laughter faded quickly. Silence returned as their thoughts darkened and each again reflected on the difficult day.

"They said they would let you know something tonight, right?" Angela asked.

Booth nodded and checked his watch. "Yeah, Somerset isn't a complete jackass. He and I went through Quantico together and he owes me a favor or two. He said he'd give me something as soon as he could."

"I did not care for Agent Mills," Brennan said with a frown.

"You aren't supposed to," Cam assured her.

"You've met him?"

The former cop shook her head. "Don't need to; IAD is IAD, they're all the same."

"They have a job to do," Sweets reminded them all.

"Well, they certainly seem to enjoy it," Turner growled.

"Are you ok?" Sweets asked with concern.

Turner kissed his cheek and gave him a slight smile. "I'm fine, Lance."

"We are all fine," Brennan insisted. "We are simply tired of waiting for this ridiculous and unnecessary process to end."

Booth's phone began to vibrate and seven sets of eyes moved anxiously to it. "Ready or not, here it comes," Booth muttered as he picked it up. It was a text message and he read it twice to verify the message.

"Booth?" Brennan demanded impatiently. She craned her neck, trying to read the message for herself.

He handed her the phone and then spoke to the others. "They are going to recommend no disciplinary action. As far as IAD is concerned the events were out of my control. The case can be closed."

The tension that had surrounded them suddenly vanished and a soft cheer circled the table. Brennan pulled her partner close and kissed him. He lingered against her lips for a brief extra moment then with eyes closed he pressed his forehead against hers. The others celebrated around them but for them this silent communication was all they needed.

"It's the right decision, Booth," Angela said, as their celebration gave way to more silence.

"Yeah, thanks." He knew she was right and he tried to sound like it. "I know it's a hollow victory, we usually have better results, I'm sorry it didn't turn out better."

"You can't win them all," Sweets answered.

"Our goal is always the truth," Brennan said with a tone better suited to a lecture than a night at the bar. "We revealed that. It may have come under circumstances we would prefer to alter, but I will never regret exposing the truth."

There was a murmur of agreement and a few tentative smiles began to show on their weary faces.

"Ok, I'd stay for a round in celebration, but I think we've already had enough when we were drowning the sorrows," Cam joked. "Right now I have the urge to get home and… I don't know change a diaper or something equally life affirming."

There were calls of goodbye as she made her way from the table. Turner and Sweets had climbed to their feet to allow Cam to exit and they shared a look of agreement. "Guys, I think we are going to head out too," Sweets announced. "It's been a long day."

"Hey, Sweets," Booth said quickly to halt their steps. "Thanks; not just for today. Thanks for all of it. You did good work."

"Thanks, Booth. Really, thanks a lot."

Hodgins was chuckling as the younger couple made their way to the door. "He gets to take a girl home and he got a pat on the back from you," he joked. "That was the best moment of Sweets' life."

Booth winked as he sipped his drink. "Somehow I think Turner might top anything I can do."

"I guarantee it," both Angela and Brennan said together.

Claudia cocked her head and looked over her shoulder as Lance held the door for her. "It's good to hear them laugh," she noted. "I was worried that might be in short supply for a while."

"They are all very quick to adapt," Sweets said with a hint of pride.

"Adaptation is important," she agreed. "What about you?"

He turned to her with a puzzled expression. "What about me?"

"Do you adapt quickly?"

"I…I try." He wasn't sure where this was going and he waited for an explanation.

"That's good," she mused. "I like a man who tries." She grinned slyly and her eyes held that same humor as she looked at him. "I like it in a roommate as well."

Sweets stopped walking. "You want us to…are we ready for that?"

Turner stepped closer and he automatically wrapped his arms around her. "I think we might be," she answered as her own arms held him. "Can we at least talk about it?"

"Yeah, sure," he agreed sounding slightly stunned by the surprise. She moved in for a kiss and his lips turned up in pleasure. "Awesome," he breathed just before she kissed him.

B&B

"Aw, look," Angela said as she spotted the Sweets and Turner sharing a kiss out on the sidewalk.

The others turned to look through the window and they each grinned.

"Makes you kind of proud of the kid, doesn't it?" Booth joked.

"Dr. Sweets is not a child," Brennan said as she leaned against his shoulder.

"I know, Bones. But don't ruin my fun by saying that where he can hear you."

Angela had turned her attention from the couple outside to the one next to her. It wasn't difficult to see that Brennan would prefer to be elsewhere. "I think we should head home too," she announced.

Hodgins stood, willing to follow her lead, and she gave both Brennan and Booth a kiss goodnight. Hooking her arm with her husband's they headed for the door.

"You ok, Angie?"Hodgins asked as they stepped out into the night.

"Mhm," she affirmed softly. "I was just thinking about Bren. I said earlier that Paris seemed a lifetime ago. For Brennan it really is; her life is completely new. Come to think of it, all of us have completely new lives."

"That's a good thing."

Angela chuckled. "You can say that again. Sweets' moving on is wonderful. Claudia is perfect for him and she appreciates the man he is. It's nice to see. When we first came back to DC I thought he had gained the most, but it turned out Bren and Booth were the ones with the best change. Seven years of waiting and then they fell into it like it was the most natural thing in the world. I wanted them together so badly I didn't know how to handle it at first. I was happy, but I felt a little cheated that they kept it a secret. I got over that pretty quickly though, because really, I just want them to be happy."

"I don't know, Cam might be the biggest change. Paul and a baby was about the last thing I expected to find when we got home. Now I can't imagine her any other way."

"She's very happy. Macon is wonderful."

They had reached the car and Jack gently turned her shoulders so that she faced him. Remembering all the enjoyment she took in listening to Cam's stories, her fondness for the pictures their friend shared and all the times she wanted hold the baby when Cam brought him round, he wondered if he had missed something. "You really love that little guy, don't you?"

Angela shrugged and nodded unable to deny it. "I really do."

"You think you might want one?"

"Jack, we've only been married a year. We have time."

"I know, but why wait?" he asked suddenly enthusiastic about the idea. "You always said you want a whole houseful."

Angela studied his smile carefully trying to determine where this instant excitement originated. Her fear was that after all they had been through, the pain of losing Zack, the year of struggle to find Creeps and then the sudden defeat at the moment of victory, that this was simply his grasping at something positive.

He saw her hesitation and he caressed her back. "How about we just think about it?" he suggested. "Maybe we could talk about it in a few days? I still owe you that trip to Mexico. Why don't we head that way on Friday and we can discuss our family plans while we lie on the beach and watch the sunset?"

"That's what I love about you, Jack," she answered as she moved closer. "You are a smart, smart man."

Hodgins laugh was cut short by her kiss.

B&B

The partners watched as Angela and Hodgins walked, arm-in-arm, out of the bar. With a little sigh that Booth found undeniably adorable, Brennan stood and picked up her jacket, handing it to Booth. "I believe it is time for us to leave as well, Booth. I am exhausted, and I would just like to go home."

Nodding in agreement, Booth helped her into her coat, pulling her hair out of the collar and smoothing it down affectionately. "That sounds good, Bones. Just let me settle up at the bar and I'll meet you outside."

Brennan smiled and headed for the door, pausing a moment to admire her partner as he strode across the room and pulled out his wallet to pay the bartender. As an anthropologist, Brennan had always paid close attention to how Booth moved. She knew when his back was bothering him, when his feet were aching, when his heart was heavy. Everything she needed to know, everything he had tried to hide from her before, was readily apparent in his skeletal structure. And although neither felt the need to hide anything from the other any longer, the simple comfort of her science giving her a way to understand this man better than anyone else was something she would always embrace.

"You ready, Bones?" She had been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't noticed Booth joining her at the door.

"Yes." She smiled, reaching a decision about something she had been struggling with for a few days now. "Would you mind if we walked a bit?"

Opening the door and allowing Brennan to exit before him, Booth shook his head. "Naw, I don't mind. Probably wouldn't hurt me to walk some of this booze off."

They linked arms and strolled along the quiet street, occasionally passing other couples but alone for the most part. They chatted about nothing in particular; both content to let the heaviness of the last week start to slip away under the contentment of each other's company.

"So, Bones...when we were in the bar earlier, I thought of a secret I could tell you tonight." He grinned, loving the way her face lit up at the prospect of another piece of him to learn.

"Please. That would be nice."

Booth laughed lightly. "Alright. So...my date to the junior prom-"

"Sharay Bellapini."

Booth stared. "How do you remember things like that?"

"I remember everything you tell me, Booth." Brennan demurred.

He shook his head, reminding himself that there were very good reasons why he was never not amazed by the woman next to him. "That's impressive." He smiled. "Anyway, I knew that Sharay was...let's say generous, with her affections."

"You're saying she was easy."

"Bones!" He couldn't help but laugh. "Alright, yeah. She was easy. And I'm not proud of it, but that was part of the reason I asked her out in the first place. But since I'd only, you know, done it a couple of times, I didn't want to look bad when things got hot and heavy so I..." He actually blushed, which Brennan found incredibly endearing.

"What, Booth? What did you do?"

"I, uh...I got into Pops' collection of Playboys and read all the letters to the editor for ideas."

"Playboy is a men's magazine with erotic pictures of unclothed women, correct?"

Booth smiled. "Yeah. And some men write in and tell them about their wild sexual exploits. That's what I used for research."

Brennan began laughing. "Oh, no...what happened?"

"Let's just say that when I tried one of the moves I read about, Sharay was not exactly impressed. I felt that slap across the face for months." He had the grace to look chagrined. "I feel bad about it now, but that the time...it seemed like the thing to do."

"I've found that that particular phrase always follows a rather ill-advised course of action." Brennan replied, still snickering.

"Alright, alright...no making fun of my youthful indiscretions." He took her hand and began to swing it between them as they walked. "And it's your turn. Let's hear a true confession from Temperance Brennan."

Brennan's breath caught in her throat as she momentarily reconsidered what she had planned to reveal. But knowing it had to be said made it easier for her to gather her courage, stop walking and pull on his hand, forcing him to face her.

Booth could see the anxiety in her eyes, and he instinctively rubbed her knuckles with his thumb, offering her silent support in addition to the verbal. "You know you can tell me anything, Bones."

"I know, I just..." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looking up into his eyes deliberately and unreservedly. "I am pregnant."

For a long, interminable beat Booth's face held no expression at all. And then, as if flipping a switch, a wide smile spread across his face and he pulled her up and into his arms and swung her around, laughing and whooping with delight. "Really? A baby?" He put her back on her feet and lay a hand across her still-flat abdomen. "A baby." He breathed.

"I suppose that answers my question as to whether or not you are happy." Brennan couldn't wipe the grin off her own face.

"Oh, I am." Booth leaned down and kissed her gently, lovingly. "Aren't you?"

"I...I am." Her smile was all the reassurance he needed. "I really, really am."

The End.

* * *

><p><span>The Bonesology Writers Collective<span>

Brainysmrfs (Mary) – Executive Producer/Writer

TheValiumSofa (Julie) – Executive Producer/Writer Wrangler/Proofreader

NatesMama (Jen) – Producer/Writer

Squinttoyou (Sara) – Producer/Writer

Rynogeny (Cindee) – Writer

TravelingSue (Sue) – Writer

Stayuff (Stephanie) – Writer

Thnx4thegum (Heather) – Writer

GCatsPjs (Colleen) - Writer

I know I speak for the entire Bonesology Writers Collective when I thank all of you who came back week after week (all 21 of them!) to read each new episode. Thank you for all the amazing reviews and constant encouragement – this would have been a far more difficult task if it weren't for the support we received from each and every one of you.

On a personal note, I need to take a minute and thank all of the writers who followed me down the dark and rambling paths of my mind and didn't run away screaming while I plotted out this season. This project was supposed to be something to keep us occupied during the summer hiatus but for me it became something more meaningful. Working on this season has been a gift, it gave me something to focus on and put my energy into while my life was sorting itself out. I can't even begin to tell you how lucky I feel to have such amazing people like you in my life.

Virtual Season 6.5 by the numbers:

263,774 - Total number of words written

17, 335 - Number of miles I traveled during the project

11,641 – Number of views this thread has had on Bonesology (as of this posting)

1,232 - Number of emails I sent regarding this project

81 - Number of times Laffers used the word 'love' in a review

46 - Number of poor souls we offed

21 - Total number of episodes

15 - Number of episodes originally planned

8 – Number of most episodes completed by one author (Squinttoyou)

2 - Number of last names I've had since the first episode was posted

0- Number of Thursdays we didn't post an episode

Also, I'd like to announce that in an effort to help fill the void that will surely come with the winter hiatus of Bones, we are already in the early planning stages of a Bonesology Season 7.5. Look for the new season in early 2012!

~ Mary (Smurfs)


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